


My Heart's in the Highlands

by smartgirlsaremean



Category: Hamish MacBeth (TV), Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Season 3B, Alternate Universe, Anti Hook, Anti Zelena, Anyelle, F/M, I don't really know - Freeform, I just want Hamish and Belle to be together somehow okay?, I know it seems like it's anti-Regina but it's not, Nor do I care, Post Season 3 of both Once and Hamish Macbeth, Somehow Hamish Macbeth took place in like 2009 instead of the 90s, i mean duh - Freeform, time is meaningless, trigger warning: suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2018-09-12 11:45:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 57,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9070273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smartgirlsaremean/pseuds/smartgirlsaremean
Summary: With Rumplestiltskin gone, Belle can't face going back to the Enchanted Forest without him. She leaves Storybrooke forever, travels the world, and ends up in a small village in Scotland, where she meets a constable with a very familiar face.Nominated for Best Anyelle in the 2017 TEAsVoted Best Anyelle in the 2018 TEAs





	1. Ae Fareweel, Alas, Forever

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been rattling around on my hard drive for months, and then the husband gave me the Hamish Macbeth DVDs for Christmas and this was basically inevitable. The story requires a serious suspension of disbelief, but we Oncers are used to that, aren't we?

“In order for the spell to work, I have to give up the thing I love most.” Regina’s eyes were bright with unshed tears as she stared at Henry.

Belle's knees crumpled beneath her and chest burned. Rumple was gone and Storybrooke was about to disappear, and she had nothing and no one. She gasped for breath from where she knelt on the pavement, staring at the spot where Rumple had disappeared. It was so incredibly, horribly, brutally unfair that she should lose him so soon after finding him again.

“I’m going too,” a voice rasped above her, and everyone turned to look at Neal, whose face was streaked with tears.

“You…Neal, you…” Emma shook her head. “You can’t...you don’t have to…”

“I can. I wasn’t cursed with the rest of this town. I can leave if I want to, and I do. I’m coming with you.”

“Me too.” Belle struggled to sit up on her knees - standing was beyond her at the moment.

The royals all stared at her and she wanted to scream at the blank surprise in their eyes. “I don’t care if that town line wipes my memory. Rumple was all I had, and now he’s gone. Do you think I want to go back there to - to nothing? I’m going.”

“It won’t,” Regina said quietly. “Wipe your memory, I mean. After everything you've been through, you’re immune to the town line. Your memories are immutably your own; nothing can change that.”

“Right. Then I’m going too.”

Snow White’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think...”

“I don’t care what you think. “ Belle surged to her feet. “I don’t care what _any_ of you think! He sacrificed his _life_ for us and you’re standing there as if he deserved it, deserved to die! He killed his own _father_ to keep us safe, and…”

Neal’s arms went around her and she sobbed into his shoulder. “She’s going, guys. We’ll take care of her.”

“If Neal and Belle are going with you, I can’t give you false memories,” Regina told Emma and Henry. “It’s too complicated.”

“So don’t. I don’t want to forget you,” Henry said sadly.

“We’ll get by,” Emma whispered, staring at her parents as if memorizing their faces. “We’ll miss you, but...at least this way, if you guys find a way back to us…”

“There won’t be a way. Everything will reset, the portals will close,” Regina huffed.

“For years you thought there wasn’t a way here, but you found it. Maybe you’ll find another.” Emma studied Regina for a few moments. “I swear to you that I’ll take care of him. He’ll never need or want anything as long as I live.”

Regina’s lips were pressed into a thin line as she took Henry in a fierce embrace, her shoulders quivering with the effort not to cry. “Let’s go,” she whispered.

They had time to stop for money and clothes, thank goodness, or the four of them would be bums on the street. When Emma’s car and Rumple’s Cadillac were loaded with their bags, Belle and Neal stood dispassionately apart from the rest of the group, watching as Emma and Henry said their tearful goodbyes.

“What are you going to do?” Neal asked her.

“Rumple had a plan for everything,” Belle said quietly. “There are a few valuable antiques he told me to sell in case of an emergency; I’ve packed them. He also had some identification papers forged for when he was planning on searching for you: passports and photo IDs and stuff like that. He always wanted to take me with him to see the world.”

“So that’s what you’ll do?”

“Yeah. I think it’d be fitting. It’s what he’d want.”

Neal handed her a card. “That’s got my number and Emma’s. When you leave Boston, if you need anything, if you get stuck anywhere, or get in trouble with anyone, call me and I’ll be there for you as soon as I can. From all corners of the globe, got it?”

“Globes don’t have corners,” she whispered. “But thank you.” She studied his face for a moment and then pulled him into a fierce hug. “You’re so much like him.”

“I never thought I was, but...yeah, I see it now,” he muttered, looking at his son. “What I wouldn’t do for that kid - I’d tear apart worlds for him. And when you think about it, that’s what Papa did, in the end.”

“He loved you _so much_ ,” Belle whispered, squeezing his hand.

“I did too. That was...that was the hard part, y’know? I loved him more than anything; he was my whole world. For a while there I was convinced that he hung the moon and sprinkled the stars and lit the sun in the morning. I could have forgiven him sooner if I’d loved him less.” Neal looked down at her. “But you...you really loved him, too, didn’t you? Like, True Love kind of love.”

“Yes,” Belle whispered, studying her shoes. “I almost broke his curse once. True Love’s Kiss.”

“Holy shit,” Neal breathed. “Seriously? And he kept you around?”

“No, of course not. He panicked and threw me out, and Regina kidnapped me and held me prisoner for twenty-eight years, and then I was let out and your father protected me until his last breath.”

She looked up and saw that Neal was staring at her reverently. “You are hands-down the bravest person I’ve ever met. All that and you’re going out into a world you don’t know?”

Belle shrugged. “Do the brave thing and bravery will follow. Your father knew I wanted to see the world and have adventures. I’m going to do that now. I can’t go back there without him, I just...I just _can’t._ ”

“I get it. Believe me, I get it.”

Henry and Emma finally approached as the purple cloud of the curse bloomed over the town. Belle slid into the driver’s side of the Cadillac and prepared to follow the Volkswagen out of town to Boston. From there she would go anywhere - anywhere at all she wished.

One day, perhaps, her broken heart would mend.

* * *

 In a way, going to Scotland was a homecoming. Rumple had told her many times about Mr. Gold’s fabricated memories of Glasgow. It was an impressive bit of magic, he’d said, that could conjure something so elaborate about a world the curse-caster had never visited. Mr. Gold had had memories of Glasgow and Cambridge and Harvard and Boston, despite the fact that Roderick Gold had never existed in any of those places. Belle French, likewise, had a history that wouldn’t bear intense scrutiny, but the documents he’d forged were so perfect she had no trouble. She’d driven across the continental United States and then flown to a tiny town in Australia - Belle French’s birthplace - and from there traveled the world for almost two years, and now she felt that she was in the home stretch. Scotland called to her, and when she left Glasgow for the Highlands she felt the pull of the mountains as if they were a part of her blood.

Scotland reminded her a bit of Misthaven, and the shining lochs and the castles scattered about the place filled her with a sense of home she hadn’t found in any other place before. It was absolutely _beautiful._ She knew Rumple would have loved it. She could almost hear him twittering about the possibility of dragons slumbering in the depths of the mountains.

Eventually she made her way to Inverness, and after spending a night there she decided to spend the next day going where her whim fancied, turning up whichever narrow winding mountain road interested her in the moment. It was starting to grow dark and she was beginning to consider the possibility of sleeping on the side of the road in her rental car - it wouldn’t be the first time on this trek, after all - when the vehicle gave an almighty lurch and the unmistakable flap of rubber on pavement let her know that a tire had blown.

Rats.

Neal had taught her how to properly replace a tire before she started on her journey, of course, in the week she’d stayed with him and Emma and Henry in Boston. Thanks to him, she could perform just about any routine maintenance on almost any vehicle with a certain level of confidence, but she didn’t much care for newer vehicles. Give her the old Caddy any day; she’d loved that thing and hated leaving it behind.

Heaving a sigh Belle threw open the door and walked around to the boot of the car, dragged the spare out and leaned it against the bumper, and then found the jack and the lug wrench. She’d removed the flat tire and was resting against the side of the car before beginning the next part of the process when an ancient police land rover rattled up. Belle was curious instantly - she hadn’t known there were any towns in the area.

“Having a spot of trouble, are you?” the driver called as he leapt nimbly from the truck. “Need any help?”

“I’ve almost got it,” Belle smiled, gesturing to the spare waiting to be fastened in place.

“Aye, that you have. I can give you a hand, though, if you like.”

She had a feeling that if she turned down his help, he’d stick around and watch her attach the tire, and that made her nervous, so she pushed away from the car and dropped the lugnuts in his open palm. “Okay, thanks.”

He flashed her a crooked grin and Belle’s heart nearly leapt out of her chest.

He looked exactly like Rumplestiltskin.

She gasped - maybe said his name - her head swam and her knees buckled, and she saw surprise and alarm flash across his face before everything went black.


	2. The Twilight Home Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle may have found a home at last, but the local police force is a little too inquisitive for her liking.

“I swear, I didnae do anything,” Hamish Macbeth hissed as TV John hovered over the still form of the stranger lying on the sofa of the police station. “I offered to help her with her tire and she just...” He fluttered his hands to indicate that she’d fainted dead away.

_ That _ was a novel experience. He knew he wasn’t exactly hard on the eyes - took no small amount of pride in how well he wore his uniform, in fact - but he’d never had a woman swoon on him before. It wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Women could be damned heavy when they fainted, and of course he’d had to catch her; couldn’t have her braining herself on the pavement. He scratched at the back of his neck and tried to ignore the way TV John’s lips were twitching, choosing instead to focus on his unwitting houseguest. Doc Brown was on his way and hopefully they could revive her but until then...

She was pretty. And that wasn’t really something he should be thinking about an unconscious stranger in his police station, but there was really no way not to think it because she was. Heart-shaped face, creamy ivory skin, rioting dark curls, full cherry lips - he hadn’t got a good look at her eyes before they rolled up in her head but he had the impression they were blue. And she was tiny. Half a head shorter than him and light as a feather to boot.

Doc nearly whistled at his first sight of their visitor. “Holy hell, Hamish, what did you do? Knock her out with a club and drag her here?”

Well. He knew he had a reputation as something of a dog, but that was uncalled for. “‘Course not,” he snapped. “just make sure she’s okay, will you?”

The doctor had scarcely finished his brief examination when the woman’s eyelids fluttered and she breathed in a deep gasp. She flinched away from the doctor, who immediately backed away to prove he was no threat, and she locked eyes with Hamish again. He swallowed hard. Yes, blue - an unreal, translucent blue-green that rivaled the sea at its most breathtaking.

She muttered something under her breath and shook her head a little, never breaking eye contact. Her staring was beginning to unnerve him, so he glanced away and pretended to be fascinated by the typewriter on the desk. He could tell she’d gotten his hint when Doc introduced himself and she answered, her voice that low Australian alto he’d remembered from an hour ago.

“Do you know your name, m’dear?” Doc asked, and Hamish felt it was safe to look back.

“Belle French,” she said shakily. One hand rose to smooth her hair while the other was captured in Doc’s grip as he checked her pulse.

“Date of birth?”

“August 28, 1990.”

“Mother’s name?”

“Colette Johnson French.”

“Do you know where you are?”

“No, but that’s not...I mean, I left Inverness this morning and I - well, I didn’t really have a plan, so…”

“So you were just...driving for the hell of it?” Hamish asked, ready now to risk her piercing gaze again.

She glanced at him but, thank God, didn’t resume staring. “Yeah. I just wanted to see what was down this road. If it got late before I found a place I was going to sleep in the car.”

“Well, you don’t seem to have a concussion,” Doc Brown said. “Just take it easy tomorrow, eh?”

Belle nodded.

“Thanks, Doc, I’ve got it from here,” Hamish said brusquely. Doc nodded reluctantly and turned to go, squeezing Belle’s hand in encouragement.

“All right, Miss French,” he said when Doc was out of sight. “Why don’t you tell me what’s really goin’ on here?”

“Just what I said,” Miss French said calmly, pulling herself into a seated position and combing her fingers through her hair. “I’ve been on a sort of - pilgrimage, I guess? - a trip, anyway, around the world, for the last two years or so. This is just my latest stop.”

“And what exactly are you running from?”

“I’m not running from anything. I’d always meant to see the world, and when the opportunity arose, I took it.”

“How did that opportunity arise, if you don’ mind me askin’?”

“I do mind, as a matter of fact,” Miss French snipped. “It’s none of your business. Now since I’m not dying or under arrest, could you point me in the direction of my personal effects and then the nearest hotel?”

“I didnae say you weren’t under arrest.”

“What could you possibly arrest me for?”

“Illegally parked vehicle. Assaulting a police officer.”

Miss French’s eyes flashed. “I didn’t assault you.”

“Me back remembers it differently.”

“Next time you’re welcome to let me fall.”

He grinned. “You plan on swoonin’ on me again? That’s downright flatterin’.”

Miss French huffed, but he thought he saw a flicker of a smile on her lips. “My things?”

Hamish jerked a thumb towards the table and she rose, looking carefully over her purse and its contents before nodding at him. TV John offered to take her to the Lochdubh Hotel and set her up for the night, and then she was gone with nary another word or glance his way.

* * *

“Hamish means well,” TV John told Belle as he walked her to the hotel. “We dinnae get mony visitors here, that's all. Certainly none as found us themselves.”

“Driving or walking on any road that caught my fancy is how I had some of my most memorable adventures,” Belle said. “And this one hasn’t disappointed yet.”

Her hotel room was clean and spacious, if extremely dated, and Belle unpacked her things into the dresser drawer. This leg of her journey had begun to feel like the last, but she wasn’t sure what she’d do when she decided to settle down. Boston hadn’t agreed with her, and she had a feeling that she’d like New York (where the newly minted Cassidys had ended up last she’d spoken with them) even less. She loved visiting in cities, but she’d always been a provincial girl. Avonlea had been, as Rumple described it on his only visit there, a “little town,” and she’d been completely charmed by Storybrooke. Thankfully the world was full of little towns and villas into which she could disappear and quietly live out her days.

Belle French’s education included a degree in library science. Perhaps she could be a small-town librarian or bookshop owner. The thought of spending her days surrounded by the written word filled her with joy as nothing had in the last two years. Her head spinning with ideas and plans, Belle fell asleep quickly despite the sounds of the restaurant/pub below.

The next morning found her rested and ready to explore the hamlet she’d found herself in. Today would be a day for the streets and shops, tomorrow for hiking, and then, probably, she’d be on her way.  Two years of travel had seen a significant change in her wardrobe. Gone were the short skirts and floaty dresses and flirty heels she’d been fond of in Storybrooke (most of them anyway), replaced by sensible tops and shorts and cargo pants and boots and tennis shoes. A few dresses for nights out remained, but no one in Storybrooke would recognize her now. Sometimes she scarcely recognized herself.

The restaurant in the hotel served breakfast, she’d been told, so she shouldered her messenger bag and headed out. This early in the morning the pub was hardly a hub of activity, but there were a few people at booths. With a little flutter of nerves she noticed that the constable - the one who so resembled Rumple - was there with TV John and the doctor who’d examined her last night. They were all nursing mugs of coffee, but when the doctor saw her he leapt to his feet and was before her in an instant.

“Miss French! How are you feelin’ today?”

“Much better, Doctor, thank you,” she smiled as she shook his hand.

“Well, you certainly look better. Less peaky. Here for breakfast?”

“Yes, I…”

“Och, you must sit with us, come on.” He hadn’t released her hand and began fairly pulling her to the booth.

“Oh, but…”

“No arguin’, Miss French, I willnae hear of it.”

“Belle, please,” Belle sighed as she was gently shoved into the booth across from the constable and TV John. “I’m not sure anyone’s  _ ever _ called me Miss French.”

“Belle,” the doctor said almost triumphantly. “A bonnie name.” The constable snorted and Doc Brown glared at him. “Well, it is,” he said defensively.

“Ay course it is, divit,” the constable said with a crooked grin. “That's what ‘Belle’ means. Beauty.”

“Ah, bugger off, Hamish,” the doctor grumbled, puffing his pipe madly.

They were interrupted by the bartender, who introduced himself as Barney, and Belle tucked into her meal with enthusiasm. She looked up after about ten minutes of silent eating to see that all three men were staring at her avidly.

“Sorry...do I have egg on my face or something?”

“No, no,” PC Macbeth said. “Has it been a few weeks since you had a decent meal, then?”

She narrowed her eyes. “No. And I don’t appreciate being stared at like an exhibit in a zoo.”

TV John cleared his throat and stood. “Sorry, lass. Hamish, I’ll be at the station.”

“Aye.” The constable’s eyes didn’t waver from hers.

The doctor, his eyebrows raised, glanced between her and the constable. “And I, ah, probably have a patient tae see somewhere.”

“See you later, doc.”

Belle raised her eyebrows and met his stare, forcing herself to notice differences between him and Rumple. He was younger, for one thing, but then everyone in this world was younger than him. His hair was shorter, his eyes less haunted (though not entirely serene, interestingly enough) and his bearing was different. However much he resembled Rumple, he was very obviously not the same man.

She shouldn’t be surprised that she was attracted to him - she’d always been drawn to Rumplestiltskin and this man could be his twin - but she was surprised nonetheless. She hadn’t felt attracted to anyone since she’d left Storybrooke, and had not unreasonably assumed that she wouldn’t again. True Love didn’t come along every day, and it certainly didn’t die easily, and she didn’t think she was crazy to think her chance had come and gone.

Still, there he sat, his bottomless dark eyes boring into hers, his mouth quirking into a half smile, and her insides quivered ever so slightly. She recognized that look; she’d seen it on countless men who’d tried to pick her up in bars around the world. He knew he was handsome, and he capitalized on it. The only way to depress impertinence like his was to meet it with her own.

Adding a sparkle to her eyes, she speared a sausage with her fork and lifted it to her lips. Locking her gaze on his, she took a deliberate bite and smiled when his grin faded a little and his eyes widened.

* * *

He’d been wrong the night before, Hamish mused as Belle polished off her breakfast. She wasn’t pretty. Her baggy, comfortable traveling clothes and weary face had concealed the truth from him.

She was bloody gorgeous and nothing less. His mouth had run dry when she stepped into the pub, fresh as a daisy and sexy as hell with her fluttery knee-length skirt and long slim black-tight-clad legs. Every unattached man in this pub (and probably one or two of the married ones) was imagining those legs wrapped around various parts of his body, and she’d sat across from  _ him. _ The fact that she didn’t seem to reciprocate his attraction didn’t bother him; she was just passing through, a pretty little tourist to admire, nothing more.

“You still have questions,” Belle said, scraping up the yolk of her eggs with her toast.

“Aye, if you’re open to hearin’ ‘em.” He rearranged the questions in his head, dragging the most policeman-like ones forward and the dog-like ones to the recesses of his brain.

“I’ll hear any questions you care to ask. I might not answer them, though.”

Hamish grinned. “Where’re you from, Belle?”

“Here and there.”

“That's no answer. It’s a simple question.”

“Not really, in my case.” Belle studied her glass of water with a strange expression. After a few moments she took a deep breath. “I was born in Kilmore, but I grew up in Maine. My father’s business took us there. I came into some money a few years ago and finally got to do what I’ve always wanted to do.”

“And what’s that?”

“Travel. See the world.”

“Alone?”

Her face clouded over, her eyes darkening and taking on a haunted look that suddenly made her seem decades older than she was. “No. That wasn’t the plan, but…” shrugging, “we do what we must, don’t we?”

“What’s on for today?” he asked after a few seconds.

“I thought I’d walk around town, visit the shops, see the beach. I don’t need a permit or anything for that, do I?”

“No, of course not.” Where the hell had that come from?

“You’re sure?”

“Aye, I’m sure.”

“Then I won’t need a police escort, will I?”

Hell. How had she known he was planning to show her around? He fidgeted in his seat. “No.”

“Great.” She rose and tossed a few quid on the table. “Then I’ll wish you a good morning, P.C. Macbeth.”

* * *

 

Lochdubh was many times smaller than Storybrooke. It only had the one main street, and there were very few shops along it. Before lunch she was fairly sure she’d met all the principal inhabitants and seen all the important sights in the town itself. Rory the grocer had shown her around his store and convinced her to buy a few of his apparently famous crumpets; Esme, one of the schoolteachers, had given her a tour of the school and invited her to sit in on a Gaelic lesson; Lachlan McCrae, in town selling some of his wares, had waxed eloquent about his farm and various business ventures. She was now nearing the end of the street, enjoying the brisk breeze from the harbor and scrutinizing the mountains. Tomorrow she’d pack a lunch and a dinner and spend the whole day up there, losing herself in nature.

A building near the end of the street caught her eye; while most of the buildings on the street stood in need of a few repairs, they were all open and busy, but this building had boards on the windows and a chain on the doors. Curious, she walked closer and tried to discern what it once had been. The sign above the door was faded, but when she was directly before the building she could read it.

_ Lochdubh Public Library _

Some emotion she couldn’t define surged through her, compressing her lungs and choking her. Images of another library, boarded and abandoned, swam in her head and she clutched at her elbows, pulling her arms around her body. “We may sit in our library and yet may be in all quarters of the earth,” she whispered. Tears trickled down her cheeks and she bit her lip hard. “ _ Rumple _ …”

Magic was hard to come by in this land, but destiny knew no boundaries. Libraries were how she grounded herself, how she knew she was home and safe and loved. She’d felt that connection in Avonlea, she’d felt it at the Dark Castle, she’d felt it in Storybrooke, and she felt it now, growing and spreading and digging deep into the pavement at her feet as if rooting her there. Scotland had already felt like home, and now there was a library in need of love. She’d always known that since she couldn’t return to Storybrooke, she would need a home somewhere, and if the tugging at her heart and the heaviness in her legs didn’t signify that she was home, she didn’t know what would.

Cautiously she approached the doors and peered through the cracks between the boards. With no curse to keep everything pristine, she could see dust gathered on everything. Several of the shelves were missing books. It would be no small task to clean and arrange it all, and she would need to expand the collection, but…

“I hope you’re not thinkin’ of goin’ in there.”

Macbeth had found her. She kept her back to him. “I thought you said I didn’t need an escort.”

“You don’t, but I thought you might like a tour guide.” He grinned as he came up beside her, but the expression dropped when he caught a glimpse of her face. “Is summat wrong?”

Belle turned her head and wiped at her face. “I’m fine.”

“Och, aye, many a lass I’ve found weepin’ her eyes out over an abandoned library.”

“How long has it been closed?” Belle asked, ignoring his huff of frustration.

“Six months or so. Mrs. Coffey died and no one in town’s got the background tae take over.”

Belle hummed, studying the facade. “Would it be worthwhile to reopen?”

“Eh?”

“Has the town missed having a library? Would it do well if it opened again?”

“I, eh, really couldnae say. I suppose so. Folk around here aren' great readers, but they’ve been known tae crack a book frae time tae time.” He chuckled. “Why, d’you need a job?”

Belle shrugged. “I  _ am _ a librarian, and it’s not as if I have anything else to do or anywhere specific to be.”

Macbeth was silent for several seconds. “So you’d - what - open it for a month or two and hand it off?” She turned to look at him and raised her eyebrows. “You cannae mean you want to  _ stay _ here.”

Rolling her eyes, Belle turned back to the library. “I never tire of hearing someone tell me what I want.”

Macbeth huffed. “You must have  _ somewhere _ tae go. People you miss.”

“I really don’t.”

“Now, why dinnae I believe that?” Macbeth stepped closer to her.

“Because you’re an arse?” Belle snapped, her temper rising.

“Or maybe because you’re still not telling me the truth.”

“What do you want me to say?” Belle rounded on him, and he backed away a step, his eyes widening. “What will get you off my back? Do you want to hear that I have no family or friends anxiously awaiting my return? That I have no place to call home?”

“I - “

“Or maybe you want me to tell you all about how I watched my - the man I loved  _ die _ . That I was powerless to stop it - that I wasn’t even able to hold him or tell him I loved him as he faded away. That I couldn’t go home because I just couldn’t face life there without him.”

His face had gone pale and he looked as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t determine what.

“Have I told you enough, P.C. Macbeth?” she asked, ice in every syllable.

“Aye, lass. You have.”

Her words had run out, and she walked away, struggling to calm her heart and slow her breathing. In two years she had never -  _ not once _ \- even hinted at what had driven her around the world, not to kindly boarding-house owners or sympathetic bartenders or friendly fellow travelers. The memories seemed at once too precious and too terrible to share with another soul. In this land without magic, how  _ could _ she explain what Rumple had been to her, how empty and frightening the world had seemed without him, how powerless she was to do anything but run and never return?

She was tired of running, of never having a fixed home, of doing odd jobs to pay for her next plane or train ticket - and of dipping into the dwindling funds the sale of the antiques had provided. She wanted to feel useful again, and the library needed her.

Belle nodded to herself as she climbed the stairs to her room. She would canvass the locals and determine if the library were a valued resource; if it was, she would know what to do next.


	3. A Finer World Within the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle's not going anywhere. Hamish isn't entirely sure how he feels about that.

Miss French turned and stormed away, and Hamish let out the breath he’d been holding.

Well, he’d cocked that up right well, hadn’t he? He’d planned for an afternoon of showing the beautiful tourist around the town, chatting her up a bit, coaxing a few more of those smiles out of her. Instead he’d forced her to relive the worst moments of her life, from the sound of it.

Bloody tosser.

He spent a lot of the next week avoiding Miss French, which wasn’t difficult, as she seemed to spend most of her time up in the hills or in her room at the inn. John had been sending him sly glances whenever she appeared and Hamish all but ducked out of her way, but Hamish was skilled at dodging questions when he wanted to. And at the moment, he didn’t want to talk about Miss French, mostly because he had no idea what he would say.

“What’s this I hear about the library openin’ up again?” Barney accosted him one morning a week after Miss French arrived. Hamish had stopped in for a coffee before his patrol and Barney was looking ever so slightly panicked.

“Eh?”

“Agnes and Esme’ve been goin’ on about it.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Barney. Your guest was askin’ about the library, but she’s a tourist just passin’ through. I doubt it’ll come tae anything.”

“I don’t want more philosophers sitting around the bar reading instead of drinking,” Barney growled.

“Maybe this time they’d do their reading in the library. The men at least.”

“Aye, she is a pretty little thing, isn’t she?” Barney let out a reluctant chuckle. “Agnes thinks she’s the best thing since sliced bread, and Esme’s pretty near as bad. But maybe you’re right and it’ll all come to nothin’.”

The doors swung open then and Miss French walked in with Esme; the incomer’s eyes were sparkling and her hands were flying about, and Esme was nodding and smiling at everything she said. Agnes came bustling out from the kitchen and set two cups of tea on the bar as the women took their seats.

“Are you settled in, Belle?” she asked.

“Yes, thanks, Agnes. It’s perfect.”

Barney and Hamish exchanged alarmed looks. Settled in? What did she mean by that?

“And thank you so much for putting me up, Esme,” Belle said, taking the teacher’s hand. “It won’t be forever, I promise; as soon as I’ve saved enough I’ll look into getting my own place.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble,” Esme said, giving Belle’s hand a little shake. “I only spend about half my time there as it is; you’ll have it practically to yourself.”

“Your visa came through all right too?” Agnes asked, and Barney made a small choking sound.

“Well, that takes longer than a week, but I’ve been writing letters and we should have some answers next week, I think.”

“Next week!” Esme leaned on the bar next to Miss French. “As soon as that?”

“I can’t promise anything, of course, but I’m hopeful.”

“Och, the children will be so excited,” Esme cooed.

“Probably as excited as I am,” Belle chirped.

“Excited about  _ what _ ?” Barney whispered to Hamish, his fingers digging into the constable’s jacket sleeve.

Hamish shook off the bartender’s grip and sauntered up to the women, deploying his most disarming grin. “What’s all this about?”

“Haven’t you heard? Our wee Belle is a librarian, and she’s taken with the library.” Esme smiled as if she’d been handed the moon.

“Eh?”

“She’s been writin’ letters and makin’ calls all week long,” Agnes enthused. “Got her work permit in the works and says she’ll be tryin’ for citizenship.”

“She plans tae  _ bide _ here!” Esme was fairly glowing.

“That so.”

“Isnae it  _ wonderful _ , Hamish?”

“Oh, aye. Wonderful.” His brain was spinning as he processed this new information. He locked eyes with Belle, who smiled beatifically and took a sip of her tea.

“Thanks for the chat, ladies,” she said, “but I really should get back to work. Bye, Agnes, Esme...Hamish.”

His name on her lips was...very attractive. He swallowed and watched as she swanned out of the bar. When he heard a throat clearing, he turned and saw that Esme and Agnes were staring at him with twin smirks on their faces.

“What?”

The ladies exchanged a sly glance. “Agnes, d’you think we ought to point out that he’s got a spot of drool on his chin?”

His hand went instantly to his face and came away dry. “Funny,” he said dryly.

“She’s bonnie, our new librarian. Think he’s noticed, Esme?”

“Och, he’s noticed. Cannae take his eyes off her.”

“Now, wait a minute…”

“Look at the time! School starts any moment!” Esme slipped off her stool and hurried out the door, but not before throwing one last triumphant smirk over her shoulder.

Agnes was wiping the bar down, pointedly not meeting his eyes while Barney hovered around her like an ungainly hummingbird. “The library? Do you mean to say she’s actually staying and opening the place up again?”

“That’s her plan,” Agnes said serenely, “and I think it’ll be wonderful for the community.”

“I thought you hated books!”

“No, I hate books in the bar, especially when you use them as an excuse to give away free spirits.”

“How do you know that won’t happen again?”

Agnes fixed him with a glare so cold Hamish feared Barney would freeze on the spot. “I would think that  _ some _ had learned their lesson.”

Barney huffed and shook his head as she carried the ladies’ teacups back into the kitchen. “Hamish,” he said, his voice approaching a whine.

“Don’t, Barney. If the town wants the library, that’s what they’ll get, and apparently Miss French is qualified to run it, assuming she can come up with the funds and get through the paperwork. Myself, I wouldnae mind having summat else to do on nights when the fishin’ isn’t good.”

“As long as you keep the existentialists in check,” Barney muttered.

* * *

 

Weeks of seeing Belle around the town helped him acclimate. They ran into each other at the grocer’s, nodded at each other when they met in the street, and once, on a very memorable occasion, he’d walked into the bar to see her tossing back whiskey as if it were water to the loud cheers of the people around her. A fair number of them were single lads, and he sat contentedly in his accustomed booth with TV John and refused to watch the group’s antics.

Work had begun at the library. Boards were removed from windows and doors, and Belle seemed to spend every moment of the day there from sunup to sundown. He hadn’t gone in to check on proceedings, telling himself he was waiting for the project to finish, or for her to give up and leave town. She showed no signs of leaving, though, and finally TV John handed him a flyer that announced the grand opening of the Lochdubh Public Library, which would feature food from the Stag Bar, a performance by a few local musicians, and a dramatic reading by the librarian, incomer Belle French.

TV John practically dragged him to the event, and he stood near the back, reluctantly admiring the spotless shelves of books, the colorful paint colors and cheerful lighting, the comfortable chairs around the tables scattered throughout. There were even a couple of ancient computers on desks. Belle fluttered about the room, her eyes bright and her smile shining, helping a child to reach a book, an elderly woman to find the most comfortable chair, a teenager to search the internet for something. He made no effort to approach her, but after an hour or so she made her way to his part of the room and smiled widely.

“What do you think, P.C. Macbeth?”

“Hamish,” he corrected her. “Not bad, Belle.”

Her eyes searched his. “You’re not fond of change, are you?”

“Not really.”

“Maybe I can interest you in a book.” He stared at her blankly. “A newspaper? Magazine?” She sank her teeth into her bottom lip to fight a grin. “Pamphlet?”

“Dinnae let the lad fool you, Miss Belle,” John confided, placing a hand on her shoulder. “He’s always readin’ summat. Westerns, mostly.”

Hamish glared at his friend, but Belle tilted her head and studied him. “Westerns, hm? I’ll bet I have just the thing.” She whirled away, disappeared amongst the crowd, and returned in moments with a paperback book cradled in her hands. “He’s not for everyone, but give him a try and tell me what you think.”

Hamish glanced at the cover.  _ All the Pretty Horses _ . Sounded daft, to him. Like something a twelve-year-old girl might read. He flipped it over and scanned the summary, then glanced up at the town’s new librarian, who was searching his face anxiously for his reaction. “Aye,” he said finally, “I’ll give it a try.”

“Great. If you hate it, I’ll try something else.” Someone called her name, and Belle flashed him another grin and hurried away.

Later that evening, she read a passage from  _ Treasure Island _ . “I really, really wanted to read some Burns,” she confessed to the crowd, “but I couldn’t bring myself to murder his beautiful dialect with my accent. Maybe at the next reading someone will read who could do him justice.” She was an entertaining reader, changing her voice to match the characters and skipping over long bits of exposition to get to the exciting parts. Story Hour would always be popular, Hamish suspected.

“That young lady will make a fine addition tae this town,” John mused as they walked to his jeep.

“Aye, she probably will,” Hamish admitted, the book heavy in his pocket.

“One wonders why she settled here, after seein’ sae mony fine places.”

“Been wonderin’ that myself. Something’s fishy about her, John, make no mistake.”

“She seems a bit - out o’ this world, as it were. Like one o’ the fair folk come back to our land.”

“Fairy or no, she’s trouble. I can feel it.”

“Is that what you feel, young Hamish?”

Hamish looked at his friend sharply. “You don’t?”

“I feel  _ something _ , but good or ill I cannae say.”

“I’m keepin’ an eye on her.”

“Aye, sir, you do that.”

* * *

 

Hamish finished reading  _ All the Pretty Horses _ in two days, unable to put it down. He kept it a day longer on principle, and then returned to the library to give it back. She looked up when he walked in.

“Hi!” she exclaimed, her smile dizzyingly bright. “Did it work out okay?”

“Uh...pardon?”

“The book. McCarthy. Do you like it?”

“Oh.” He looked down at the book he carried. “Very...ah...very much. Finished it today, in fact.”

“Enough to try something else of his? Or something new?”

Hamish shrugged and walked toward the shelves that housed the Westerns. “I dinnae suppose Chuck Sadler’s come up with anything recently, eh?”

“Not since  _ Rattlesnake Canyon. _ Have you read it?”

“Aye,” Hamish sighed. “Wish he’d write summat new, but he’s gettin’ on, after all.”

Belle hummed absentmindedly as she came to stand beside him and search the shelves. Every couple of seconds she would reach up and pull a book out, study the cover intently, then shake her head and replace it. It was an interesting little ritual, as if holding the book gave her an insight into his possible preference that mere looking couldn’t achieve.

“Aha!” she exclaimed softly, reaching in front of him. Her hair tickled his cheek and her scent engulfed him, and dammit, he’d never had any particular affinity for librarians before now and he really didn’t want to start. “This one,” she breathed, holding the book under his nose.

_ The Sisters Brothers _ . What was it with her and daft titles? Still, the cover and summary were promising, and he’d liked the last book well enough. “Okay,” he said, and she grinned, whirling off to the desk.

When he joined her there, she shoved a piece of paper and a pen across the desk to him. “The other book was a freebie, but if you’re going to be a regular you’ll need a library card. Fill that out for me, okay?”

He shrugged and filled out the information, collected his card and book, and walked out into the morning sunshine with her eyes and smile firmly planted in his brain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit I know nothing about how long it takes to get a work visa in the UK. I have no idea if any of what Belle's doing is legal. Let's just assume it is.


	4. A Frieze and a Litany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle observes an anniversary.

The further Belle climbed up into the hills, the lighter she felt. Lochdubh was no bustling metropolis, but today the mildest, friendliest conversation would be an irritant. She’d always been an odd duck, even in Avonlea: she was more inclined to spend time with her books than with people and preferred libraries to ballrooms, and in a society that valued its women more for their social graces and beauty than for their intelligence, she had received her fair share of bemused looks and wary glances. The people of Lochdubh, though, had so far taken her under their wings like the delightful fellow odd ducks they were. It wasn’t their fault that she didn’t want to be around anyone on this particular day.

As she walked out onto a flatter section of the hill, she took a shaky breath, not attempting to stem the flow of tears. She was reminded forcibly of the rock trolls of Arendelle here, where a number of moss-covered boulders were scattered about and the mountains stretched up all around her. Bending down, Belle picked up a smooth gray stone and turned it over in her hand, wishing all of a sudden that she could transfer into it all her memories of the Enchanted Forest and the Dark Castle and Rumplestiltskin, not to forget them forever, but in order to have them available to her always. Every day the memories lost some of their sharpness and clarity, and she dreaded the inevitable day that she woke up and struggled to recall Rumple’s impish voice and golden eyes.

The wind picked up and Belle turned the stone over in her hand as she walked a little further out towards the view of the harbor. The water was covered in little white waves and she could make out a few people walking on the shore and along the pier. Today’s melancholy aside, she was happier in Lochdubh than she had been in a very long time - since the days just after Rumple’s return from Neverland, in fact. She had a purpose again, and while it wasn’t exactly of the far-reaching, world-changing nature she’d expected when she dreamed of heroism, it was a worthy purpose.

Neal, Emma, and Henry were still safe in New York and hadn’t heard a peep from northern Maine or any other realms. Neal’s weekly emails reassured her that Rumple’s sacrifice hadn’t been in vain, that Neal was happy and healthy and thriving with his girlfriend (had he married her yet? Belle didn’t think so) and his son. Henry would start middle school in the fall, Emma had resumed her work as a bailbondsperson, and Neal had gone into graphic design. That had been a little amusing to her - the two-hundred-year-old son of a sheep farmer and spinner making a living with computers - but Neal was nothing if not adaptable and quick-witted.

In his most recent message, Neal had written as if she would return if the others somehow made it back to the Land Without Magic, and she didn’t know how to correct him. She had a few friends amongst the inhabitants, but overall her memories and associations with the Enchanted Forest and Storybrooke were too painful. She was happy here, creating new friendships and forging new bonds, and she felt accepted and appreciated in a way she hadn’t known since those very few weeks with Rumplestiltskin.

She jumped when the barking of a dog interrupted her thoughts, and she turned to see Hamish and his Westie terrier Jock ascending the hill.

* * *

 

The library was closed. Hamish scowled at the sign (Closed on Sundays) and tapped his book against his leg impatiently. That sign hadn’t been there the week before or the week before that. Could she close a public building without warning?

“Morning,” Doc Brown said cheerfully, sliding a book into the bookdrop in the door. Hamish started and turned to look at him. He hadn’t noticed the new bookdrop either.

“Did you know about this ‘closed on Sundays’ business?” Hamish asked, gesturing at the sign.

“Aye. She was just waiting for the drop to be installed before she felt comfortable closing.”

“Well, what if someone needs a book?”

“Who could need a book that urgently?” Doc grinned at him. “She works all alone in the library ten hours a day and, until today, seven days a week, Hamish. The girl deserves a break.”

How had he not noticed she was the only librarian? He shifted his weight and looked away. “Guess my book’ll keep,” he said finally.

Well, there went his morning plans. TV John was manning the station, and Hamish had fully intended to spend at least an hour at the library, discussing his latest book with Belle and listening to tales of her travels. She had a fair few, after all, and while he’d never suffered wanderlust, he enjoyed a story well-told. The fact that the library was usually deserted before noon, which meant that he could enjoy having her undivided attention for an hour or two, was just icing on the cake.

Stopping at the station for Wee Jock, Hamish decided he might as well do some “policing” up in the hills. John could easily reach him on the radio if he needed to - which was doubtful, of course - and he hadn’t been for a trek in months. The day was overcast but not wet, and when the wind was calm the temperature was downright pleasant. Summer in Scotland was changeable at best, but for the moment at least it was a great day for walking.

He’d lived in Lochdubh for nearly eight years, but still he never tired of the views from the hills around the harbor. Great smoky blue heights loomed on every side and sheltered the little village from the worst of the wind and storms. A man felt safe here. Protected, even. Free, for all that, though the mountains could seem like barriers. Glasgow had never been for him, the suffocating closeness of the buildings and the faceless mob of people - a man could pass unnoticed his whole life in that mess, buried under anonymity. Hamish liked to make a  _ difference _ , to be  _ important _ , and in a city that was well nigh impossible for men like him. For people of fire and talent, like Isobel and Alex, city life acted as a fuel for their brilliance, but for a man like Hamish Macbeth, whose only claims to virtue were loyalty and honesty (and even those were dubious claims at best) and whose only talents lay in making fly lures and hoodwinking the brass ...well, he was no one outside of Lochdubh, and he liked it that way.

Higher and higher into the hills he climbed, his thoughts twisting and unformed, and the wind was just picking up when Jock gave a loud bark and went dashing up the slope to a slight figure standing and staring out over the water. Hamish didn’t recognize Belle until he was almost directly before her; she looked so much smaller and daintier against the backdrop of the peaks with her hair pulled into a tight braid. She looked up, startled, and then smiled a little at the Westie as he barked and ran little jumping circles around her legs.

“Hello, Jock,” she said as she bent to scratch behind the dog’s ears. “Haven’t seen you up here before.”

“It’s been awhile since we went on a proper trek,” Hamish told her as he drew nearer.

“Me too. Not since the library opened, anyway.”

“Longer than that, for me.”

Belle nodded, but her eyes had a far-away look to them, and Hamish was struck, as he’d been in the bar all those weeks ago, with the thought that she could sometimes look much older than she was. Her expression was pensive and he noticed that she held something in her hand that she turned over and over.

“Fond of the hills, are you?” Hamish asked.

“Mmm.”

“You’ve done a lot of climbing then,” he prodded when she said nothing more.

Belle blinked and shook her head slightly, turning to focus her gaze on him. “What did you say?”

Hamish gave a dry laugh. “Nothing terribly gripping, apparently.”

“I’m sorry,” Belle sighed. “I wasn’t really...expecting company.” Her gaze dropped to the object in her hands and he glanced down as well; it was nothing more than a smooth round stone, but she was gripping it as if it were all that tethered her to the earth. “It’s nice and solitary up here, y’know?”

Ah, she’d come up here to be alone. Hadn’t she said something once about a dead loved one? Was today an anniversary of some kind? A birthday?

“I can go if you like.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” She stared at the stone, turned it once more in her hand, and then tossed it away, watching as it sailed through the air and bounced down the hill. “I should probably be heading back soon anyway.”

“I know what you mean, though,” he offered. “About the solitude. It’s good for easing a troubled mind.”

Belle smiled sadly and, instead of walking away, sat on the grass, pulled her knees up to her chest, and locked her arms around them. “Two years. I know I’ve said that a few times since we met, but today makes it official. Two whole years. I feel like I’ve lived a thousand lives since then, but just now it feels like yesterday.”

Hamish sat next to her, and the words spilled from his mouth without his quite realizing it. “Three for me.”

She turned an inquisitive gaze on him. “Is it any easier today than it was a year ago?”

“No. Yes. In some ways, I guess.”

She sighed and looked back out to sea. Hamish tried to follow her gaze, but he was drawn to study the curve of her cheek, the curl of her hair. It was still completely unbelievable to him that she had  _ no one _ . Not one person in the world to claim her, no one to call her own. 

He tried to think of something to say, but as silence stretched between them he decided that conversation was overrated. She’d come out to be alone, to remember and process, and he’d come out to enjoy silence and beauty. He had both here, so he’d stay as long as she let him, but he wouldn’t require anything more from her. After a few minutes he turned his attention back to the water and sky and clouds and enjoyed the all-too-rare feeling of warm sunshine on his face and hands.

Hamish wasn’t sure how long they sat there basking and listening and breathing, but he snapped to full awareness as Belle rose to her feet and brushed grass off of her jeans. When he made a move to join her she shook her head. She gave Wee Jock one last scratch behind the ears, favored Hamish with a gentle smile, and then set off down the hill towards town. He watched her go as long as he could see her, then lay back on the grass and, crossing his arms behind his head, stared up at the sky.

He hadn’t felt so relaxed in ages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very short chapter today because thematically this passage didn't fit within the previous chapter or the next. The action (such as it is) picks up in the next chapter, promise. But if anyone needed a nice long stretch of calm it was Belle.


	5. For Fear of Little Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strange things are happening at the library. Hamish is on the case.

It took Belle a couple of days to realize that something was a bit  _ different _ . At first she thought she must be imagining things, but no, she thought one day, there was definitely something going on.

The smell wasn’t particularly noticeable unless one happened to think about it, but once she noticed, the faint aroma of roses that hung about the circulation desk and permeated the entire library was inescapable.

It wasn’t exactly a  _ problem _ . Roses were her favorite flower, after all, and she’d been meaning to get a wax warmer or something to stave off the occasional musty odor of the building, so she couldn’t exactly complain. But still, it was strange.

Over the course of a week, no one else seemed to notice. Hamish, who often spent an hour or two in the library in the mornings, never mentioned it; neither did Esme, who was there every afternoon after school. Belle was beginning to think she was imagining it when, as she was checking out a book for Frankie Bryce, the boy turned to his adopted father and said,

“What’s that smell?”

Lachie frowned in thought and sniffed. “Some sort of flower, innit?”

“Roses,” Belle said. “The library’s smelled like roses for a little over a week now.”

Frankie looked around the desk. “I don’t see any roses, Miss Belle. D’ye have one of those fancy air freshener things?”

“No. I suppose the breeze must be carrying the scent from someone’s garden.”

Frankie looked unconvinced as he glanced at the closed windows, but he didn’t argue. Lachie, never the brightest bulb, merely nodded in instant conviction and shepherded his son out the door. “We need to get home, lad. Lots to do.”

Belle raised her eyebrows and then turned to her next patron, who happened to be Lachie’s father. “Aye, lots to do, tha’s for sure,” Lachlan said, his chest puffing up with pride. “My Lachie’s gonna be a father again.”

“Really? That’s wonderful!”

“Lachie’s chuffed, ay course, and Jean’s glowin’. But mind, it’s a bit of a secret just yet.” Lachlan leaned in and waggled his finger. “I trust you willnae be tellin’ everyone you see.”

“My lips are sealed, Mr. McCrae,” Belle promised, grinning as he turned away and immediately began to share the news with the first person he met. A book of fairytales - tales about fairies, not stories about anyone she might know, thank goodness - landed on the counter with a thump and Belle smiled at the boy, whose face turned red. Thirteen-year-old Jack Mitchell was a regular patron and an avid reader; he was always asking her for suggestions, and she took care to praise his taste and ask him to share his insights. The people of Lochdubh were a literary bunch, but the look in Jack’s eyes whenever he entered the library spoke to Belle’s own enthusiasm for the written word. Like always recognizes like, and she had Jack pegged for a bibliophile the second he entered the doors, hunger and longing evident on his face as he scoured the shelves and then approached the desk with his arms overflowing with carefully chosen books.

He returned the books one at a time as he finished them; Belle thought he must spend every spare second reading in order to finish a book a day as he did, and she always made sure to ask him something about his reading. He glowed under the attention, and she wondered if anyone at home recognized his passion for literature.

“Just the one today, Jack?” she teased gently.

“I haven’t finished all of the others yet,” he said in his quiet voice, “but I’m nearly there Miss Belle. I just thought this one looked interesting.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Belle stroked a hand over the book’s leather cover. “It’s a beautiful work and I’ve actually been dreading loaning it a bit. I know you’ll take extra special care of it, though, won’t you?”

“Yes, miss,” the boy said with a shy smile. “Of course I will.”

She checked the book out in the system and handed it back across the desk. “Enjoy, Jack. I’ll see you later.”

“Thanks, miss.” Clutching the book to his chest like a precious treasure, Jack hurried to the door, but he stopped abruptly and turned back to her. “Miss Belle? Does it smell like roses in here to you too?”

“It does. I can’t figure out where it’s coming from, but I’m not about to complain. I love roses.”

The boy smiled and ducked his head, then hurried out the door, nearly running Hamish down in the process.

“Eh, mind yourself!” Hamish called after him, but Jack ignored him. Shaking his head, Hamish approached the desk and held out his own books. When Belle took them he leaned on the desk. “Looks like you’ve got a wee admirer,” he said.

“Oh? Is Jock here?” Belle leaned over the desk, but the terrier was nowhere to be seen.

“I meant the Mitchell boy. Face like a beacon he had.”

“Don’t be silly, Jack loves to read and he’d just checked out a book of fairytales. Probably thought you’d tease him if you saw it.”

“Why would I do that?”

“You wouldn’t, but plenty of people would.”

Hamish shrugged, and then an odd expression flitted across his face. He straightened up from the desk and sniffed the air, turning in a slow circle. Leaning over the desk again, he breathed in the air around Belle - she stepped back in surprise - and his confused frown became more pronounced.

“That’s not you, is it?”

“What?”

“The roses. Before, I thought it was you - your soap or shampoo or summat - but it’s gotten stronger and it’s definitely not from you.”

“You noticed it before?”

“Of course I did. First showed up about a week ago, didn’t it?”

“Yes,” Belle sighed in relief. “I thought I was imagining things at first. I’m so glad others have started to notice.”

“Then where’s it coming from?”

“I have no idea.”

Hamish hummed and pushed away from the desk again. “Mind if I take a look around?”

“Please.”

He sauntered off into the depths of the library and Belle returned to organizing the returns. She could hear him moving about, shifting the occasional piece of furniture, and muttering under his breath. When the books had all been sorted, she picked up a stack and headed towards the history section to reshelve them. She found Hamish on his hands and knees on the floor, scrutinizing a vent for the heating system, and she smirked a little. He leapt to his feet when he heard her set the books on the table.

“It could be comin’ frae the vents, but I’m not sure,” he said hastily, brushing dust off his trousers. “I haven’t seen anything in any of ‘em.”

“I’m not that worried about it, to be honest. If someone is coming in here and spritzing the library with rose water every day, it’s not as if they’re committing a terrible crime.”

“You haven’t noticed any suspicious persons hangin’ about? Or noticed any loose windows or scratches on the locks?”

“No, but I haven’t really been looking. Should I?”

Hamish nodded uneasily. “You’re right that it’s not something I’d want tae lock a man up for, but it’s still a bit worryin’. You’re often here all alone. I dinnae like the idea of someone sneaking in after hours and surprising you.”

She hadn’t thought of that. If they were breaking in, they were very good at it, and she didn’t relish being caught in the library alone either.

“I’ll check in on you after close,” he said after a few moments of silent thought. “And maybe...if you don’t mind, that is...I’ll walk you home?”

Normally she’d turn him down, as she was quite capable of walking the streets of Lochdubh on her own, but he looked so sweetly concerned for her that she didn’t have the heart to argue.

“Alright. Thank you, Hamish.”

He shrugged awkwardly. “Got to keep the librarian safe...now that everyone’s used tae having books again, I’d have a riot on my hands if the place closed.”

“And where would you go for your Westerns?”

“Exactly.”

* * *

The next day, the scent of roses was more pronounced than ever. Belle examined the lock on the door, but there was nothing to indicate it had been picked or forced in any way. Frowning over the mystery, she set her things in the office and made a quick sweep of the library to see if anything was out of place. Nothing was, and she stood in the middle of the space with her hands on her hips. The building was completely still, and Belle shook her head as she made her way back to the circulation desk. She stopped short a few feet away.

The candy bowl on one side of the desk, which she always filled with peppermints or jelly beans or chocolate kisses, was empty.

Had she forgotten to refill it the night before? She searched her memory but couldn’t recall whether or not she’d actually filled the bowl before leaving for the night. Hamish had been waiting, so perhaps she’d been in a little more of a hurry than usual, and she’d simply forgotten. Then again, she usually took a piece on the way out and she wouldn’t have been able to do that if the bowl were empty, and surely she’d have noticed and remedied the situation?

Belle was still staring at the empty candy dish when the door swung open behind her.

“Belle? Everything alright?”

She turned to face Hamish, unsure whether she should be amused or frightened. “The candy’s gone.”

“Eh?”

“The candy. It’s gone.”

He leaned to one side and peered around her at the bowl. “What the hell is that all about?”

“I don’t know. Who would break into a library and steal nothing but candy?”

“It’s the damn salt robbery all over again,” Hamish muttered, scratching the back of his head, and Belle bit back a smile. She’d heard all about that in her first week. 

“Nothin’ else is missing, is it?” he called after her as she went into the office. Belle glanced around the little room, noticed nothing amiss, and pulled a bag of peppermints out of the cupboard.

At least, it had been a bag of peppermints yesterday. Belle stared at the empty plastic and felt a tiny thrill of fear. The innocuous nature of these peccadilloes was beside the point. Someone was breaking into her workplace and stealing her property. She rifled through the cabinet, pulling out the bags of candy she’d stored there - all empty.

“Belle? I asked…” Hamish caught sight of the empty bags scattered on the floor. “Right, that’s it,” he snapped. “TV John’s comin’ over an’ he’ll sit wi’ ye every day ‘til this is sorted. Ye’re nowt tae stay here after close, an’ one ay us’ll escort ye home at night.”

In his anger his brogue had thickened considerably, and Belle smiled shakily. “I don’t think that’s necessary. No one’s tried to get in while I was here; they must wait ‘til I leave.”

“Which means they’re watchin’ the place,” Hamish pointed out. “John can keep a lookout for any suspicious characters.”

That made sense, and as much as she hated to suspect anyone, this had to be the work of  _ some _ townsperson or other. She just hoped increased police presence would be enough to put an end to...well, whatever this was. When Hamish raised his eyebrows, she nodded and bent to clean the empty candy bags off the floor.

TV John was summoned, brought up to speed, and stationed at a table near the front door of the library. From there he had a view of everyone coming and going, and could catch anyone lurking or acting suspiciously without much trouble. He was a very unobtrusive guest, and he could certainly look like an absent-minded old man when he wanted to, but Belle had the feeling his sharp eyes missed exactly nothing, and she found herself relaxing. She hadn’t even known how tense the mystery had made her until she had someone to share it with. TV John was a man of extraordinary intuition, and Hamish was far more talented an investigator than he let on. Between the three of them they would suss out the culprits.

The day went smoothly until the afternoon rush. The bustle of the library after school let out was something to behold - far busier than Storybrooke’s had ever been -  and Belle was too busy to worry much. Jack Mitchell was there again, returning a book, and he brought her mind back to the trouble when he reached for a mint only to find the bowl empty.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Jack,” Belle said. “I’m all out, I’m afraid.”

“But the bowl was full yesterday,” he said sadly.

“I know, I can’t explain it. I guess people were desperate for candy today.”

Jack stared at the bowl with a look of intense concentration. After a moment he leaned forward. “It could be the fairies, Miss,” he said solemnly.

“Fairies?”

“I read all about ‘em in that book. They like to steal candy - they love sweets.”

“I’ve heard that,” Frankie Bryce chimed in from behind Jack. “There’s a smell o’ flowers about ‘em too. That’s how you know they’re near.”

Smiling, Belle shook her head.  _ There’s no such thing as fairies _ , her brain supplied, but she knew better than to utter the deadly words just in case their terrible magic could cross realms. “I don’t think there are any fairies around here, boys, but thank you for your concern.”

They looked unconvinced, their faces masks of concern as they left. From his table TV John raised his eyebrows at her.

“Fairies, eh?”

Belle shrugged. “He’s got quite an imagination.”

“An interesting reaction you had, though. Most would tell him there’s no such thing as…” John’s voice cut off when she winced. “Are you alright, Miss Belle?”

“Fine,” she chirped, his sharp-eyed gaze making her nervous. “I’ve got to shelve these!” Picking up a few books at random, she hurried to the back of the library. She set her pile on a table and leaned over it, suddenly breathless.

_ Fairies _ .

Jack was right, of course. The scent of flowers did surround the fae, and they did have a weakness for sweets. And a fairy would not need to pick a lock or force a window to enter the library.

But there were no fairies in Lochdubh. This was a land without magic.

Wasn’t it?


	6. A Little Foolishness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mystery of the library is solved, and someone's heart is revealed.

Hamish had investigated his share of the odd, the strange, and the downright bizarre, so he didn’t doubt he’d crack the mystery of the public library. It was just a matter of discovering who could have gained access to the building without Belle being any the wiser. He had a few ideas, but his attention was diverted momentarily when John informed him that certain of the townsfolk were acting a little...odd.

He first noticed it the day after the candy disappeared. Lachie Jr. was returning a book on the care of a newborn while Frankie waited none-too-patiently nearby, and he kept glancing nervously at Belle and then looking away whenever she attempted to catch his eye. Lachie’s father behaved even more strangely when he came in to check an online ad he’d placed. He outright refused to look at her, and when she approached to ask if he needed any help, he leapt from his chair and bolted out the door. A few more of the men were skittish around her, too, and even a couple of the boys - Jack Mitchell of course excepted - gave her a wide berth.

All of this he heard from TV John, who was almost angry, and Hamish was flummoxed. Since her arrival Belle had been universally popular, her gentle smiles and ready sympathy endearing her to all. What could possibly have turned the tide of public opinion against her?

“I just don’t know what to think,” she fretted to him as they walked down the street a couple of days after the first candy incident. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Not as far as I know.” Hamish glared at a young man across the street, who was staring at him with something akin to horror. “It’s as if the whole town’s gone barking mad.”

“I’m used to being avoided and talked about,” Belle mused, “but it’s never been quite this bad.”

He frowned and was about to ask why anyone would avoid her when she stopped in front of Esme’s house and touched his arm.

“Thank you,” she said, and he was horrified to realize she sounded a little tearful.

“For what?”

“For making me feel safe.” She looked down, but not before he recognized the struggle in her eyes. “I...haven’t felt this safe in a long while.”

“It’s my job, Belle. Office of the constable, y’know?”

She smiled. “I know.” Her hand dropped from his arm and she twisted her fingers together. “D’you...would you like to come in for a cup of tea? Esme’s out for the night.”

Hamish’s mouth went dry. A cup of tea. At eight o’clock at night.

Of course, she  _ could  _ mean exactly that. She was feeling lonely and sad and a little scared, and maybe she just wanted to prolong the feeling of being safe. Maybe she would steep the tea, sit in an armchair after offering him the sofa, and they would talk about books and hiking and travels, and then he would offer to clean up and she would send him on his way with a wave and a cheerful smile. Maybe a handshake or even a peck on the cheek.

She probably  _ did _ mean all that. There was no reason to think she’d picked up on the fact that he fancied her. She had no way of knowing that he almost didn’t want to solve the mystery of the library, since catching whoever it was would mean an end to conversations, conferring, nightly strolls down the mostly silent streets of Lochdubh.  She wouldn’t  _ need _ him anymore, and he wasn’t quite ready to find out whether or not she  _ wanted _ him. But she was staring up at him now with those bottomless eyes of hers and he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to turn her down.

“I, um…”

“Hamish!”

Rarely had Hamish wished violence upon anyone, but as he turned to stare at Barney across the way he found himself wishing a lightning bolt would come out of the sky. The Stag Bar wasn’t anywhere  _ near _ Esme’s house. Barney was gesturing at him urgently and he heaved a deep sigh.

“I’m sorry, but it looks like Barney needs me for summat. Some other time, eh?”

“Of course! You’ve been so generous with your time. I’ll see you tomorrow.” With a last sparkling smile she disappeared into the house and Hamish ground his teeth before stalking across the street to the bartender.

_ “What _ , Barney?” he snapped.

“Not out here,” Barney murmured. “Come on, into the bar with you.” He grasped Hamish’s arm and steered him into the pub, where Hamish yanked himself out of Barney’s grasp and stared dumbfounded at the three men huddled there.

“What’s going on here?”

“You could be a little more grateful,” Barney said. “I might have saved your  _ life _ .”

“Saved my life? From what?”

“That creature what runs the library,” Lachlan intoned, and Hamish gaped at him.

“Creature? What creature?”

“You know odd things have been happenin’ there,” Lachie Jr. said earnestly. “Strange smells and things going missing...I heard my boy talkin’ about it with Jack.”

“There’s only one thing that could explain all that,” Lachlan said. “Fairies.”

“One fairy, to be exact.”

“The little incomer who’s bewitched us all.”

Hamish wished he could believe that he’d smoked something from Doc Brown’s stash and was having a terrible hallucination. “What in the hell are you on about?”

“Think about it, Hamish. Where did she come from? Just popped up one night, claims to be travelin’ the world. Sets up shop in the library without so much as a by-your-leave. And now strange things are happening. Lachie, here,” and Lachlan waved a finger at his son, “set out bread and milk last night as a test and wouldnae ye know it was all gone this morning? And just at the time when my boy finds out he’s expecting a bairn! Do you know what fairies  _ do _ to human babies, Hamish?”

“Steal them away and replace them with fairy children,” Lachie whispered, his eyes fearful.

“The fae are back and she’s their leader.”

Hamish’s head was beginning to pound. “Barking,” he said faintly. “Ye’re all stark, raving mad! Belle is a woman like any other, and she’s done this town a service re-opening the library.”

“John himself says there’s something otherworldly about her,” Barney pointed out.

Digging his hands into his hair, Hamish fought for control of his temper. “I cannae believe I’m about tae say this. Lads, there are  _ no fairies _ in Lochdubh. Belle French is not of the fae. The odd things happening at the library are  _ pranks _ , and I intend to find out who’s setting them. And I warn you,” he growled, pointing at each man in turn, “if any of this gets back tae Belle, if I hear of any more discourtesy or disrespect of her, you will all sorely regret it.”

“But Hamish…”

“ _ Enough! _ ” The men started at his shout. “We’re done here.” And tossing back the shot of whisky Barney had served him, Hamish stormed out of the pub, certain steam must be issuing from his ears.

Of all the gormless, ridiculous, utterly stupid...he could scarcely believe it even of them. Fairies! No one but the McCraes and Barney would have believed and spread such a story. They were making complete fools of themselves and…

Hamish came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the street.

Where had those rumors originated?

Standing alone in the moonlight, Hamish grinned to himself. He knew who had been pranking the library.

* * *

 

The boys watched as the constable’s assistant and the librarian disappeared around the corner. They weren’t sure why Mr. Macbeth hadn’t shown up that night to walk Miss Belle home, but at least he hadn’t been around that day with his too-observant eyes. Turning the key in the lock, they slipped into the library and took deep breaths. The scent of roses was strong, but it was fading. Setting the pack on the circulation desk, one boy took out a handful of small strips of fabric and a bottle of rose-water, while the other rifled through the office for any sweets.

“You have the other stuff, right?” the second asked.

“‘Course,” the first boy whispered, sprinkling rose water on the strips of fabric. “We’ve got to make it look like they’re growing out of the walls - fairies are supposed to make plants grow in strange places.”

“That so?”

The library was suddenly flooded with light and both boys froze in horror. Mr. Macbeth and Miss Belle stood in the door, the former with a triumphant grin on his face, Belle with a look of stunned disbelief. The constable crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows, and Frankie and Jack exchanged terrified glances.

“Evening, boys.”

“E-evening, Mr. Macbeth, Miss Belle” Jack whispered.

“A spare key. That wasn’t something I considered, to be honest. How’d you get it?” Both boys stared at the ground, Jack sheepish and Frankie stubborn. Hamish approached the desk and picked up one of the strips of fabric. “I guess these are stuck under bookcases and seat cushions, eh?” They didn’t answer. “Right. The two of you, come with me.”

“Where are you taking us?” Jack asked.

“Where do you think? The station, ay course.” He ignored Miss Belle’s gasp of protest. “Trespassing, breaking and entering, vandalism, theft...this isn’t good for either of you.”

Frankie, who had merely looked sullen and mulish, paled. “You’re arresting us?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“We didn’t mean any harm,” Jack whispered.

“Doesn’t matter.” Hamish eyed their white faces and sighed inwardly. Leading them to the table near the door, he motioned for them to sit and leaned on the table in front of them. “If you come clean with me, tell me the whole story, I might be able to persuade Miss Belle not to press charges.”

“It was my idea,” Frankie said after a beat, unable to bear Miss Belle’s disappointed gaze another moment. “Jack was telling me about fairies and how there used to be lots of ‘em in Scotland. I just thought it’d be a bit of fun. I nicked the spare key from the office while Jack distracted Miss Belle - Mr. Campbell makes keys.”

“And the changeling stories?”

Frankie’s face twisted. “Lachie and Aunt Jean won’t stop talking about the new baby. I don’t know why they want one. Babies are  _ stupid _ .” He slumped back in his seat and crossed his arms.

Hamish and Belle exchanged looks and Belle walked over to kneel next to Frankie’s chair, placing a gentle hand on his sleeve. “Babies can’t do a lot of things, that’s true. The new baby won’t be able to help Aunt Jean around the house, or help Lachie fix things when they break, like you can. It’s a good thing babies aren’t meant to replace older children, isn’t it?”

“But why do they even want a baby?” Frankie asked petulantly.

“You would have to ask them to know for sure, but I imagine it’s because they love each other.”

Frankie rolled his eyes. “Grown-ups always say that.”

Belle laughed. “We do, but that’s because it’s true. Lachie and Jean love you very much, Frankie, it’s written all over their faces, and perhaps they want to share that love with a new family member. Love never shrinks or lessens, after all, no matter how much we use it. It only grows.”

After a moment or two of thought, Frankie’s sour expression melted away. “I’m sorry, Miss Belle. I’ll tell everyone it was a prank right away. Then my grand-da can stop warning everyone away from ye.”

“I would appreciate that, thank you.”

“And you, Jack? What have you to say for yourself?” Hamish asked, after giving Belle a look the boys didn’t quite understand.

Jack slouched further down in his seat, his face beet red.

“Jack?” Belle knelt next to his seat next. “I really want to understand why you would do something like this. I thought you  _ loved _ the library.”

Somehow his face went even redder and tears sprang to his eyes. Belle looked helplessly at Hamish.

“Ah, Belle, why don’t you take Frankie into your office and phone Lachie? Have him come pick him up?”

“Of course.” Belle rose and, with a final sorrowful look at Jack, led Frankie into her office. When they were gone, Hamish took Frankie’s empty seat and leaned forward.

“Jack.”

“I read about fairies. I thought...I thought she’d like working in a fairy library.”

Hamish fought against the smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe you thought you could talk about the fairies? Ways to please them or lure them or summat?”

Jack shrugged.

“You just wanted her attention.”

The tension faded out of the boy as he realized that Hamish wasn’t teasing or laughing at him. “She’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

“Aye, she is. But Jack,” Hamish took a deep breath, “when we fancy a girl, frightening her isn’t really the best way to show it.”

Eyes widening, Jack finally looked at him. “I frightened her?”

“Think about it, lad. Someone was comin’ in here without her knowin’. Stealing her property. She didn’t know what they wanted or if they would hurt her if she caught ‘em.”

“I’d  _ never _ hurt her!”

“Oh, I know that, but she didn’t know it was you.”

“I didn’t mean to scare her.” Jack’s voice was small and sad.

“I wouldn’t fret too much. Miss Belle seems the forgivin’ type. Just ask her pardon and promise not tae do it again.”

“You’re not arresting me?”

“Nah. Consider this a warning. But you and Frankie are coming in tomorrow to clean up every last one of those cloths.”

Smiling faintly, Jack slid out of his chair and headed to the office.

“Jack!”

The boy turned.

“Do you really read a book a day?”

Jack blushed. “I didn’t at first, but then she started asking about ‘em...what I thought of ‘em.”

“And you didn’t want to disappoint her.” They shared a conspiratorial smile. “The things we do for love, eh?”

* * *

 

When the boys were gone - shamefaced once more in the face of their parents’ anger - Hamish leaned back against the circulation desk next to Belle, who looked exhausted.

“What did Jack say?”

Smiling widely, Hamish pressed a hand to his heart. “Did my love heart ‘til now? Foreswear it, sight!”

Blushing to the roots of her hair, she swatted his arm. “He did not!”

“I told you you had a wee admirer.”

“But I’m so much older than he is!”

“Oh, aye,” Hamish snorted, “Practically ancient, you are.”

“I’m older than I look!”

“That wouldn’t be difficult.”

“Oh, hush. You’re one to talk.” She folded her arms and tried not to smile.

“So, then,” Hamish said after a beat. “Case closed. One boy desperate for attention from his parents, and one trying to impress a bonnie lass.”

“Thank you for not charging them.”

“Eh, they did no harm, in the end. God knows I’ve seen...hell, I’ve  _ done _ some stupid things in the name of love.”

“We all have,” she said wistfully.

“So, ah…I guess you’ll be glad to have your library back to normal again.”

“Yes.”

“And you won’t need me and - and John hanging about so much.”

Belle turned to look at him then, her gaze just a little too knowing for his comfort. “I don’t know,” she said softly. “I might miss the two of you.”

He grinned. “Yeah?”

She returned his smile. He didn’t know how long they stood there grinning at each other like idiots, but at last she blinked, breaking the spell, and stepped away from the desk. “It’s getting late,” she said, glancing at her watch and then at him. “If you want...walk me home?”

“Absolutely.”

He held the door for her, unable to control the smile on his face, but just before he stepped out he snapped around and stared hard into the dark library. Nothing happened, so he followed Belle out and locked the door. Obviously the boys’ pranks and the eerie atmosphere of the closed library had gone to his head. There were no fairies in Lochdubh, and there were certainly none in the library.

But for a second there at the door, he’d thought he heard the faintest tinkle of children’s laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of cheated on the chapter title - I've been trying to stick to Scottish poems, but I couldn't find anything that fit. I had to go with a George Bernard Shaw quote.
> 
> Oh, those gullible men. Remember the time TV John convinced them to dance naked in the moonlight to ward off demonic possession?
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy! Thanks to everyone who reads, kudos, and comments!


	7. To the Skirl of the Pipes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle attends the Lochdubh Day ceilidh and learns something that throws her for a bit of a loop.

“Lochdubh Day?” Belle twirled her pen in one hand and tilted her head to one side.

“Aye, a local tradition. It’s more of an excuse tae drink ourselves silly than anythin’.”

“But there’ll be a ceilidh,” TV John interjected from his seat at one of the tables. Esme was still working with him on his reading, and she’d encouraged him to visit the library and practice whenever he could.

“Oh!” Belle’s eyes lit up. “That sounds  _ amazing! _ I haven’t been dancing in ages.” Hamish swallowed a groan. He wasn’t wild about dancing and any hopes he’d had that she’d want to stand on the sidelines and drink a few pints with him went up in smoke. “But it’s not the kind of dancing I’m used to, is it?” she continued. “Reels and group dances, right?” She added a book to her stack and kept musing aloud. “But I’m a fast learner and I should be okay.” She picked the stack up - it towered to her chin - and headed for the shelves. Mildly alarmed, Hamish followed her. “I just hope someone will actually dance with me - I’m new after all and - oh God, what do I wear?”

She turned her head to look at him as she put her stack of books on a nearby table and Hamish realized that she was actually waiting for a response. “Ah...I dunno. Whatever you want, I guess.”

“What do the other women wear?”

If he’d ever noticed what the ladies wore at the ceilidh it was purely by accident. The attention he paid to Belle’s wardrobe was the most he’d paid any woman’s clothing in years - neither Alex nor Isobel had been particularly fashion-conscious, even after Isobel’s self-imposed makeover a few months after Alex moved in with him. He’d always cared more for a woman’s face and voice than what she wore.

Belle, though, had a knack for clothes, and it was impossible not to notice. The first few weeks she’d looked like any other tourist, but as her plans to stay came to fruition, out had come dresses and skirts and blouses and jumpers, all perfectly coordinated with one another and enhancing her beauty and sweetness in ways Hamish hadn’t known were possible. She was a bit like a cheerful bluebird flitting amongst the sparrows, and if she was actually worried about having enough dance partners at the ceilidh she needed a new mirror.

“Forget it,” Belle huffed in the face of his silence, pushing a few more books into place. “I’ll ask Agnes and Esme.”

Hamish breathed a sigh of relief. “Aye, do that.”

Belle rolled her eyes. “With your reputation, I expected a  _ little _ more help, to be honest.”

“My...reputation?” Hamish almost choked.

“According to the gossips you’re something of a ladies’ man.”

He felt his ears turning red. “Not, uh - I mean I’m no' a priest, but I - “ His stammering voice trailed off under the influence of Belle’s gaze, which seemed a little wistful.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I should know better than anyone that reputations can be exaggerated.”

Hamish shook his head. “No, it’s...it’s fine. It’s just - I was engaged once - an’ there was a girl after tha’ - but - well, nothin’ seems tae last very long.”

Her eyes were large and warm and full of sympathy that he knew he didn’t deserve, and he was torn between confessing all and turning his vaunted charm on her so that she’d forget the whole humiliating conversation. In the end, John rescued him by standing and announcing his intention to return to the station, and Hamish was able to hurry away without embarrassing himself further.

* * *

Belle fidgeted in front of her closet and scrutinized the dresses she’d purchased over the last few weeks. Agnes and Esme had stressed the importance of comfort at the ceilidh, but she was still a bit hung up on wanting to look nice. She hadn’t properly dressed up since moving to Lochdubh, and she was itching to - as Ruby would have said - glam it up a bit. It had been months since she felt beautiful, and she wanted that again.

And there was no use pretending that she didn’t know why she felt that way.

Sighing, Belle collapsed backwards on her bed and threw an arm over her eyes. He was quite possibly the most laidback police officer she’d ever met - which was saying something when she recalled what passed for law enforcement in Storybrooke - but that was actually the greatest part of his charm. He was lackadaisical not because he didn’t care, but because he cared so much about this town and all the people in it that he considered protecting them to be his most important duty, even above enforcing the law. Once she’d discovered that, it was no wonder she’d developed a soft spot for him. Tender-hearted men with stoic exteriors appeared to be her type.

He would stop by the library most days. Sometimes he would make off with two books: a Western and another of her choosing. If he wasn’t dropping off or picking up, he would talk to her about the books, ask her opinion, tease her a little, joke and flirt a bit. She spent a good portion of that time getting lost in his eyes, drifting away on the ebbs and flows of his voice, and imagining his dextrous hands on her skin, but at the end of every encounter he would grin, wish her a good day, and stride away. He never seemed the least discomposed, and it wasn’t fair. Tonight she wanted to get a little of her own back.

She wanted to leave him stunned.

She wanted to knock him for six.

She wanted to make him  _ want _ her the way she’d started wanting him, the way she hadn’t wanted anyone since Rumplestiltskin.

She just wasn’t sure it was possible. Surely if he was interested at all he would have said something by now, wouldn’t he? All the men she’d encountered on her travels had done so (not that she’d ever taken any of them up on their offers). Maybe she wasn’t his type.

Well, she determined that after tonight she would know one way or the other.

* * *

Hamish was doing pretty well, he thought, right up until Belle took off her coat, which was actually fairly pathetic as the ceilidh hadn’t even properly begun yet. He’d known the night would be a trial when he met her walking down the street to the hall; her richly colored hair was pulled back into a French braid, leaving her neck and ears bare, and she’d performed some sort of magic with her makeup that made her eyes larger and bluer than ever. He knew he wanted her, but he hadn’t realized how much trouble he was in until her wool coat slipped off her shoulders and revealed that they were left bare by the off-shoulder neckline of her dress. The deep forest green set her alabaster skin off to perfection and made her eyes glow. The flowing skirt brushed a couple of inches above her knees, and she’d foregone tights, leaving her legs bare down to her sensible black shoes.

Bloody hell, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Belatedly he realized he’d been ogling her rather openly, and he hastily raised his eyes to hers, glimpsing in their depths a strange triumphant glow. She tilted her head to one side and bit her lip, and he caught his breath.

“Belle!” Doc Brown appeared apparently out of nowhere. He grabbed Belle’s hand and brought it to his lips. “My lady, you outshine the stars.”

Belle rolled her eyes and grinned, leaning up to press a kiss to the doctor’s cheek. “Hello, Duncan.”

“Dinnae break me heart, lass. Tell me you’ll partner me for the first dance.”

For a heartbeat her eyes met Hamish’s and held, but when he said nothing she swept Doc an exaggerated curtsy. “I’d be delighted, good sir.”

“Excellent.” Doc tucked her hand in his elbow and appeared to notice his friend for the first time. “Evenin’, Hamish,” he said cheerfully.

“Doc.”

“Best get yourself a partner before all th’ good ones are taken.” Doc waggled his eyebrows and swept Belle away, leaving Hamish to stew.

“Dance with me, Hamish?” Esme appeared at his side and smiled kindly at him, her expression a touch too knowing. A reel had started up and he suppressed a smirk as she took his arm and steered him gently to one end of the set. 

“Didnae think you’d be one for a pity dance, Esme,” he teased. “I’m not gonna have tae fight off a jealous Rory, am I?”

“No one takes the Doc seriously,” Esme said. “He’s too much of a flirt.”

“I know that.”

“You looked a little jealous. Just thought I’d remind you.”

Once upon a time Hamish would have hotly denied the accusation. Him, jealous? Of course not! He was just  _ concerned _ , or  _ angry _ , or  _ suspicious _ . But he knew himself better now; time and experience had taught him well the importance of being self-aware. Among other things, he’d come to accept that he was a jealous man by nature. He wasn’t  _ unreasonable _ ; he didn’t expect to have a woman’s undivided attention at all times, but he didn’t like to share.

“Stop being so stubborn and ask the lass for a dance,” Esme chided him as the reel ended.

Hamish gave her a little salute and looked around for Belle, but she’d already been swept up by Lachie Jr. and was giggling her way through another dance. Grinding his teeth, Hamish leaned against one of the walls and wished he’d stayed home. What was the point of going to a dance if the girl you fancied spent the night in other men’s arms?

The band took a break after an hour of playing, and Belle, flushed and glowing, appeared at his side with a cup of beer in each hand.

“Enjoying yourself?” she asked, handing him a cup. He took a sip and considered his answer.

“It’s not really my idea of a good time, dancing,” he confessed.

“You danced with Esme.”

“She made me.”

Belle laughed. “She can be fairly irresistible when she wants to be, can’t she?”

“Aye.” He couldn’t stop himself from admiring her again. She was even lovelier now, her hair slightly disheveled and her cheeks pink. “I guess you’ve already heard how beautiful you look a dozen times, eh?”

“A dozen and one,” she said, “but it’s still nice to hear.” Her eyes searched his face. “You really won’t dance with me?”

She sounded disappointed. His heart jumped. “I’d rather take a walk if you don’t mind. Get some fresh air?”

“Sure. It does get a little hot in here, doesn’t it?” She set her cup down on one of the tables and walked beside him to the open door; she sighed deeply when the cool breeze off the harbor swept over them.

“Enjoyin’ the ceilidh?” he asked as they paced towards the harbor.

“Yeah, it’s wonderful! Everyone’s so warm and welcoming; it’s been a long time since I had so much fun.”

“Glad tae hear it.”

“And you?”

He shrugged.

“If you don’t dance, why do you come? Surely there’s something else you’d rather be doing.”

“I buy a few pints, chat with friends. Spend a couple of hours being someone  _ other _ than the constable.”

“Have you always wanted to be in the force?”

“Aye, since I was a lad.”

“And you’ve always lived here?”

“No, I grew up in Glasgow, my parents moved us there when I was very young. I never much liked the city, though; I came back out here soon as I could.”

Belle hummed and ran her hand along the low stone wall.

“You really plan to stay here, don’ you?” Hamish asked. “I didnae believe it at first.”

“Why is that?”

“Lass like you, brilliant and determined and...well, you could go anywhere. Do anythin’. Why settle for little auld Lochdubh?”

“I’ve been most of anywhere and done most of anything already, remember?” Belle smiled. “I always knew I’d have to settle somewhere, and I felt drawn to this place, especially when I saw the library.”

Hamish chuckled. “Aye, that library. It’s your wee bairn, eh?”

“I just knew it would be home. Call it fate or destiny or kismet - it  _ called _ to me, y’know? Like I was always meant to come here.” She paused and took in his faint smile. “That’s a bit fanciful for you, isn’t it?”

“Not really. You ought to mention it to TV John, this destiny stuff. He’s got the sight, after all.”

Belle, who had looked out over the water at the moon, whipped her head around so quickly she almost fell back. Alarmed, Hamish reached out and grabbed her arm, steadying her. “The sight?” Her voice squeaked and her eyes were enormous.

“Aye.”

“You...you believe in that sort of thing?”

“What sort of thing?”

“The sight, the supernatural, fate...magic.”

“I dunno.” Her gaze was strangely intense, and it was beginning to unnerve him. “I dinnae disbelieve any of it, and John’s visions tend to come true.”

“Exactly as he sees them? Or is there room for interpretation and error?”

“Well, they’re a bit abstract. A noise here, a dream there, sometimes just a feeling. He could explain it better.” She had begun to shiver, and he shrugged out of his jacket, wrapping it around her bare shoulders. “Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m fine.” She hunched her shoulders, and he’d never been a large man but she was dwarfed by his jacket, and he felt a surge of protectiveness towards her.

“Nah, you’re cold. We should get you back to the hall.”

“I’d rather just go home, if that’s okay.” She started to shrug out of his jacket, but he reached out and pulled the lapels closed.

“I’ll walk you.”

Belle smiled again, though the expression was a little shaky. “I’m sure I’ll be okay. I understand the local constabulary has things well in hand; the streets are perfectly safe.”

Even though he knew she was teasing, he preened a little at her praise. “Ah, you never know. Could be dangerous ruffians about.”

She rolled her eyes and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Well, if you insist.”

Hamish wished suddenly that it was daylight, and that the townspeople were out and about so they could see him walking down the main street with the loveliest incomer any of them had ever seen on  _ his _ arm, wearing  _ his _ jacket, leading  _ him _ to her house. He’d walked her home more than once, during the library case, but he hadn’t had a chance to do so since, and besides, that was business. She was walking with him now because she wanted to, and that was the headiest feeling imaginable. After seeing her safely inside, he headed home with a smile on his face.

* * *

Belle sat heavily on her bed, scarcely noticing that she was still wearing Hamish’s jacket. TV John had the sight? And people in the town knew and accepted that fact?

This was a  _ land without magic _ . How could such a thing as the second sight be possible?

There was apparently more to Lochdubh than met the eye, and she should have known that when she’d felt that deep, unavoidable, compelling urge to stay and put down roots. Touched as her own life had been by magic, any vestiges of magic would call to her and pull at her. But why here? Why not in any of the other places where magic was whispered about? What made Lochdubh her final destination, so to speak?

She needed answers, and she knew of only one man who could possibly provide them.


	8. Lonely History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle finally confides in someone who will understand - or at least attempt to.

Belle took a deep breath and knocked firmly on the door of the caravan, hoping she wasn’t about to make a mistake. The door swung open and TV John blinked at her.

“Miss Belle! This is a surprise.”

“May I come in?”

“Of course!” He pushed the door wider and led her to the table at one end. “You’ll have tae excuse the mess - I’m an auld bachelor and I’ve had no female company in…” His brow contracted as he thought. “I don’t think I’ve _ever_ had female company, in actual fact.”

Belle smiled and shrugged, sitting on one of the chairs.

“Is there somethin’ I can help you with?” John began fussing with a kettle.

“Hamish said something the other night that startled me.” Belle folded her hands and studied them, willing herself to be brave. “He said that you had - the sight. The second sight.”

“Aye, I do.” John lit the stove and sat across from her, placing two teacups on the table. “Why is that startling?”

“Were you born with your gift or was it - given to you by someone?”

“Born, or so I was told. I’ve been seein’ for as long as I can remember.”

“What was your first vision?”

He chuckled. “My poor mother - I warned her about a saucepan on the stove - said to turn the handle in because she was about to knock it off, but she didnae listen and next moment there was soup all over the floor.”

“And your visions...are they always so clear?”

The kettle whistled and John gave her an inscrutable look before getting up to pour. “They’re often nowt but feelings - a twist in my gut, a pain in my head. But sometimes...aye, sometimes the warnin’ couldnae be plainer.” He sat heavily and looked morosely into his teacup.

Belle cradled her own cup in her hands, uncertain of her next question.

“You don’t question my sight,” John said before she could begin, and his gaze was piercing. “Most incomers laugh at me if they hear about it at all. But not you.”

She shrugged uneasily. “I just - I like to learn about things and this - this is new to me.”

“No,” John said slowly. “No, it isn’t. You’ve seen one like me before. In your own land, perhaps.”

Startled, Belle dropped her cup, the tea sloshing out onto the table. “M-my own land?”

“I see more than the future, Miss Belle,” he said sternly. “I can see ye’re not ay this world. There’s a glow about you - an aura - that’s different from any I’ve seen. And I’ll answer no more o’ yer questions until I’ve had the truth frae ye.”

Belle swallowed sudden tears and looked down at her tea. This had been a mistake. How he could know that she was different she had no idea - but that was magic. Once it touched you, it never let you go, and she, and possibly John as well if he wasn’t a native son, had been drawn here because of it. Her life had been so inextricably linked with magic, both Rumple’s and Regina’s, that she might never escape it.

She could run. She could leave this caravan, gather together what she could carry, and leave Lochdubh immediately and never look back. She could find another village somewhere that needed a librarian or record keeper, a village without a seer and a physical double of her dead true love.

But she didn’t want to. She loved Lochdubh now, the place and the people, and she had told Rumplestiltskin once that when you found something worth fighting for, you didn’t give up. She had built a life here, with a job worth doing, friends worth keeping and, if she were brave enough, perhaps a new relationship worth exploring. And even if that last didn’t work out, the other two were incentive enough to stay. She set the cup down and took a breath to steady her voice.

“If I tell you - _If_ I tell you, will you promise to keep it secret - at least for now?”

“As long as I’m able. There’s others as are bound to grow suspicious, mind.”

Nodding, Belle took a deep breath. “Alright. To begin with, my name isn’t Belle French. I have no real surname. I was called Lady Belle, and my father was Sir Maurice, the lord of Avonlea.”

“Avonlea. I’ve never heard of the place.”

“You wouldn’t have,” she smiled shakily. “It’s not of your world.”

John studied her through narrowed eyes. “And how did you come to be in this world, Lady Belle?”

Oh, gods, where to begin?

At the beginning, she supposed.

She smiled mischievously. “Have you ever heard the tale of Snow White and the seven dwarves?”

* * *

It was a rare occasion that Hamish was awake and ready for work before John came to the station. Preparing his own breakfast was no chore, but Jock was growing hungry and, like Wee Jock before him, would only take his food from TV John. Hamish tried to feed the whining pup, but when Jock would have nothing to do with the food placed in front of him, Hamish determined that he’d best go and see what was keeping John.

As he drew near to the trailer park and his deputy’s caravan, the door swung open and Hamish stopped abruptly, wishing there was somewhere he could hide. A woman’s voice was talking and then Belle French was descending the caravan steps, smiling over her shoulder at John and...was he seeing things, or was she wearing the same dress that she’d worn the day before?

He clamped down on the thought before he could get carried away. Belle and John? Preposterous. For one thing he was old enough to be her grandfather. For another, he wasn’t even sure John fancied women. He’d never had a sweetheart in all the time that Hamish had known him. Or a beau for that matter. Not that anyone knew of, anyway. For all anyone knew John wasn’t interested in sex or relationships full stop, and Hamish really needed to stop wondering what Belle would have been doing spending the night in John’s caravan because the two of them were almost upon him and he needed to act naturally.

“I was worried about you,” he said to John, hoping his voice wasn’t too cheerful. “Thought you might’ve been spirited away or summat.”

“Oh, I was just distracted by good company,” John said, giving Belle an avuncular pat on the hand.

Belle smiled and stretched up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Thanks for hearing me out,” she said seriously. “It was good to talk to someone.”

“Anytime, my lady,” TV John said, and Belle blushed.

“Mornin’, Belle.” Hamish felt distinctly disgruntled. He wasn’t used to her not acknowledging his presence. He was glad that he knew - was fairly certain - he had nothing to fear from TV John as a romantic rival, or else he might be tempted to be jealous.

Only tempted, mind.

“Good morning, Hamish,” she said, and when she turned a bright smile on him, all was right once again with the world. “I’ll be a little late opening the library this morning, but I’ll still see you, won’t I?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good.” She bent to give Jock’s ears a scratch and then hurried away.

Hamish watched her go and then turned to TV John, raising an eyebrow. “Well, well. Look at you, entertain’ young ladies in your home until the wee hours of the mornin’.”

“Miss Belle needed a friendly chat. She’s had a rough time of it, and not many sympathetic ears to listen.”

“I’m sympathetic,” Hamish protested.

“Aye.”

He offered no further explanation of why Belle had gone to him and not Hamish, and Hamish floundered silently as they headed to the station.

“Must’ve been quite the talk,” he said at last.

“Aye.”

“To keep her there all night, I mean.”

“Aye.”

“John, for God’s sake, what…”

“I’ll not be tellin’ you, young Hamish,” John said sternly. “The lady asked me to hold my tongue, and I never break a promise to a lady.”

Hamish sighed irritably. “You never break a promise full stop.”

“True.”

“Fine, have your secrets.” Hamish dropped into a chair at the kitchen table and folded his arms petulantly.

TV John’s mouth quivered as he tried to hold back a smile. “Don’t pout, Mr. Macbeth. It’s not behavior fitting a police constable.”

“’m not pouting,” Hamish mumbled, but when he caught sight of himself in the reflection of one of the windows, there was really no other way of describing his expression. He saw TV John’s shoulders begin to shake. “Ah, just feed the damn dog,” he muttered, storming into the bathroom for a shave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of all people to confide in, I think TV John is an excellent choice.


	9. Isle of My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle takes another step towards completely settling in Lochdubh, and learns a few things about the local constabulary.

“Mornin’, Belle.”

“Morning, Hamish!”

Hamish grinned. Belle was always chipper, but today she looked ready to turn cartwheels. “Good news, I take it?”

“The best! I can finally move out of Esme’s house!”

For a hideous moment Hamish thought the worst, that she’d had enough of village life and was leaving Lochdubh. Her sunny smile, though, banished that thought almost as soon as it appeared.

“Found a flat?”

“A house, actually, just across the street. The McElroys moved to Inverness to be near their grandchildren. They’ve left the furniture and everything, which is wonderful because I don’t have any at all, and I haven’t saved quite enough to furnish a whole house.”

“That tired of living with Esme, are you?”

“Of course not! She’s a wonderful roommate! But...well, I was beginning to feel a bit like a third wheel, if I’m honest.”

Hamish grinned. “Aye, I’ve heard that before. They’re lovely people, Rory and Esme, but they can get a bit...focused on each other.”

“They’re an adorable couple, really,” Belle sighed with a dreamy sort of smile. “So passionate about each other, so sweet and considerate. I’m grateful to Esme for putting me up, but I know they won’t be sorry to see the back of me.”

“When do you move in?”

“Tomorrow!” She spun away to pick up a pile of books and Hamish followed her into the stacks.

“Need any help?”

“I’ve got it, thanks.”

“I mean with moving.”

She turned to look at him, tilting her head with a little smile. “All I have is my clothes, Hamish. But if you really  _ want _ to help...it wouldn’t exactly be easy to carry two suitcases across the street by myself.”

“Of course I want to help. Wouldn’t offer otherwise, would I?”

She shook her head and carefully pushed a book into place. “Meet me at Esme’s at about eight tomorrow?”

“‘Course.”

* * *

“You’re sure you’ve got everything, Belle?” Esme looked at Belle’s suitcases uncertainly. “I know you said you didn’t have much, but…”

“That’s it, honestly, Esme.”

“You’re not going to take them both yourself?”

“No, Hamish should be here any minute to help me.”

“Hamish! That’s very  _ neighborly _ of him.”

Belle narrowed her eyes at Esme’s tone. “Yes, it is.”

“Hmm. A pity you don’t have any furniture to move over. I always like to see a man do a bit of hard labor. D’you want to borrow one of my armchairs?”

“Esme!” Belle giggled even as she fought a mental image of Hamish’s wiry arms flexing under a heavy load. Surely moving furniture would be warm and he’d want to wear something a bit cooler than those button-down flannels he was so fond of in his off hours...

“Oh, never mind, I’m sure you’ll find a coffee table or summat in the house that isn’t in the ideal spot.”

“You’re terrible,” Belle scolded.

Esme winked at her. “I don’t suppose you’re going to repay him for his help with a nice home-cooked meal.”

“Why would I do that? I don’t want to punish him when he’s being nice to me.”

Shaking her head, Esme smiled and straightened the tablecloth, glancing out the window. “You’re good for him, Belle. He hasn’t smiled sae much in a long time. I was afraid he wouldn’t meet anyone else after Isobel left for...well, the Lord only knows where she is now.”

Belle froze in the act of pulling back a curtain. “Isobel? Who’s Isobel?”

“Oh...Hamish hasn’t told you?”

“It’s not as if we’re a couple,” Belle pointed out a little peevishly.

“Well, she...she’s a reporter. She worked for the  _ Listener _ until she got her big break and moved to Glasgow about two years ago.”

“And she and Hamish were...together?”

“Not exactly.” Esme twisted her hands. “It’s a bit of a long story, and Hamish should be the one to tell you. I’m sorry I brought it up...I thought you knew.”

No, she hadn’t known. He’d said something about a loss, but he’d also said that was  _ three _ years ago, not two. Of course it was silly to be even a little uneasy about this information about his past: he had a bit of a reputation, and it couldn’t all be exaggerated. But Esme made it sound as if this had been a serious connection, and now Belle was absolutely burning with curiosity.

At precisely eight o’clock Hamish knocked on Esme’s door. He easily hefted the largest of Belle’s suitcases and followed her across the street. Belle’s hands shook with excitement as she used her key to open the door of her new house. The door swung in on slightly rusty hinges and Hamish stepped forward to turn on the light.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, and Belle giggled. She’d had the same reaction when she first set foot in the house, though she hadn’t said it aloud. The thick shag carpeting was a sickly gold color, the walls a shade of faded pea green. And the furniture…

“This is the ugliest bloody house I’ve ever seen,” Hamish said solemnly, looking around him with wide eyes.

“I don’t think they’ve bought a single stick of furniture since 1967,” Belle agreed, wrestling her suitcase in the door.

“How could you possibly live here? I’m getting a headache just standing here.”

“It won’t be forever. I’ve already chosen a color for the walls, and the carpet’ll come up. There are lovely hardwood floors underneath.”

“The McCraes could probably help with that. And as soon as you can replace the furniture I’ll be more than happy to toss this garbage out for you.”

“I’m not totally helpless, y’know,” Belle teased him.

“Aye, I know, but why go it alone when there’s people to help?”

Belle had no answer to that. She just wasn’t used to people offering to help.

“Where are we putting these?” Hamish gestured at the suitcases.

“Oh, uh…” Belle felt herself blush. “Right down the hall.”

Her bedroom - the only bedroom in the place - was just as garishly decorated as the rest of the house, except that the walls were a bright fuschia.

“Holy hell,” Hamish huffed as he set his suitcase down. “Are you gonna get any sleep in here at all?” Belle felt her face flush more deeply, and Hamish turned horrified eyes on her. “I didnae mean...I...that was…”

“It’s okay.” She pushed her suitcase farther into the room. “This’ll probably be the first room I paint.”

Hamish had set down the other suitcase and scuttled backward, and now he was hovering in the doorway as if afraid he would be struck by lightning if he reentered the room. “Is that everything, then?”

“Yes, that’s everything.”

Hamish returned to the living room and stood in the center of the room, bouncing slightly on the balls of feet. Belle followed him and tried not to laugh; for all his swagger and confidence, he could certainly act like a shy teenager when he was feeling off balance.

“Esme suggested a homemade meal to thank you, but I like you too much to try to poison you,” she said, which earned her one of his crooked smiles. “How do you feel about the Stag Bar?”

“Best restaurant in town, innit?”

“Give me a few minutes and dinner’ll be my treat.”

* * *

“Blue?”

Belle looked up from where she was placing drop cloths over the chairs. “It’s my favorite.”

Hamish looked thoughtfully at the paint cans he’d opened. “It’s a good color.” It was a paler version of the color of her eyes, but he didn’t want to say that. “You don’t wanna protect the carpet?”

Belle grinned at him. “Are you kidding? The carpet’s coming up anyway. I saved a fortune on drop cloths.” She put her hands on her hips and looked around. “I think we’re ready.” Tossing him a roll of painter’s tape, Belle pulled off her sweatshirt to reveal a black tank top and Hamish nearly swallowed his tongue. She glanced at him and raised her eyebrows. “You’re going to get paint all over that shirt.”

“I’ll, uh...I’ll be fine.”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Taking her own roll of tape, Belle bent down to begin placing tape on the baseboards and Hamish took a deep breath, moving to the other side of the room. It was going to be a  _ long _ day.

When all the tape was laid they started work on the walls, Hamish taking charge of the roller while Belle did the trim. They chatted about the library and books and their friends in the village, and Hamish did his very best not to notice that Belle’s tank top dipped a little too low when she bent over and then slipped up above the waistband of her sweatpants when she reached above her head (which was frequently, the precious wee thing). They ate sandwiches on the floor while the first coat dried, the room pleasantly cool from the breeze drifting through the open windows. When they got up to begin work on the second coat, Belle gestured at the front of his button-down.

“I knew that would happen.”

Hamish looked down and groaned. Flecks of blue paint covered the entire front of the shirt. “I was careful!”

“The roller splatters. I did warn you.” Belle herself was dotted with blue, too, but he doubted she cared much.

“No need to rub it in.” He shrugged out of the paint-spattered flannel and tossed it to the side. When he turned back to his roller he noticed that Belle had frozen in place, her eyes wide. “What? Did I get paint in my hair or summat?”

Smirking, Belle shook her head, her eyes flitting over him. He felt suddenly self-conscious in his white T-shirt and fought the urge to cross his arms over his chest. After a few seconds Belle turned back to her wall.

The atmosphere as they applied the second coat was much more subdued. The air felt a little thicker, the room a little smaller, Hamish thought they were a little closer to each other than before, accidentally brushing against each other a bit more often.

The room was almost finished and Hamish was concentrating very hard on anything  _ but _ the fact that Belle was kneeling at his feet touching up the trim while he rolled paint onto the last stretch of wall. He heard her move away at last and, sighing with relief, he allowed his arms to fall.

“Hey!” Belle yelped.

He started and looked down. “Ah, hell, I’m sorry,” he groaned. He’d painted a wide pale blue strip right down the center of her head. “I didnae…”

“Did I put too much sugar in the tea or something?” she teased, shaking her brush at him.

“No, ay course - oi!” He jumped back when her brush made contact with his cheek.

“Oh, sorry,” she said sweetly. “Accident.”

“The hell it was!” he growled. He snatched up a brush and advanced on her. “When I finish wi’ you, French, folk’ll think ye’re a bloody Smurf.”

It was a blessing the chairs and coffee table were covered as he chased her around the room. She was a quick little thing, and she managed to hold her own, darting forward to dab him with her brush before leaping behind a chair or dancing just out of reach. She was the first to call a ceasefire by collapsing on the couch and dropping her brush on the floor. He joined her and they sat there, flushed and streaked with blue paint, still nudging each other occasionally and snickering.

“God, the blue is so much better,” Belle sighed when she’d caught her breath.

“Aye. Matches your eyes, too.”

Well, hell. He hadn’t meant to say that aloud. She didn’t seem to find his remark strange, or at least she didn’t say anything if she did. “Once I get some nice furniture and pull the carpet up it’ll really feel like home.”

“Will it?” Hamish turned to look at her. “You’re settled for good, then?”

“Yep. You’re all stuck with me. Before you know it you’ll be sick of the sight of me.”

“Ah, no way. More like you’ll get sick ay us.”

“Impossible.” Belle turned so that she was sitting with her back to the arm of the couch and facing him. “You don’t know...you don’t have any idea how much Lochdubh means to me. What it’s been like to be accepted somewhere, to have people who like me for who I am. That whole weird fairy business aside,” she added as an afterthought. He smiled, but he knew it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Belle narrowed her gaze at him. “You don’t believe me?”

“Aye, I do, but…” he shrugged and looked at the floor, “brilliant young women don’t tend tae stick around verra long.”

“Isobel.”

His eyes snapped up at that. “How do you…”

“Esme mentioned her. Seemed to think I’d know what she was talking about.”

“Aye, Isobel.” He sighed. He might as well get this particular painful confession out of the way. “She’d lived here all her life, but she got too big for the place. I don’t blame her,” he said hastily. “She was brilliant and talented and had the chance tae really make a mark, y’know? And anyway we never...I mean,  _ I _ never…”

Belle was staring at him as if he were revealing a great secret of the universe.

“She loved me,” he said at last. “I loved her too, but I never  _ said _ ...and then she was gone and never came back.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was my own fault. And there were other...I mean, when I say I’m no priest, I mean I’m as far from a priest as it’s possible to be.”

They were quiet for a little while. After a few minutes of silence Belle put her hand on his. “You don’t have to tell me. I mean,” she amended, “I’d like it if you felt comfortable enough to tell me one day, but it doesn’t have to be tonight.”

“Some other time,” he said gratefully.

She pulled her hand back into her lap and studied it, a thoughtful frown on her face. “Yeah.”

“I’d best be gettin’ back.” Hamish tore his eyes from her face and rose. “Jock’ll worry.”

“Give him a pat from me and tell John I said hello.” She walked with him to the door and opened it, her smile soft and sweet in the evening light.

“‘Course. G’night, Belle.”

She worked her lower lip between her teeth for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. She reached forward and kissed his cheek. “Good night, Hamish.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what my deal is with that room-painting scene. It's like the hand-painting scene from Avonlea Books all over again. Seriously, where did it come from?
> 
> Please let me know what you think!


	10. When the Vision Dies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a visitor in Lochdubh and Belle reveals a little more about her past to Hamish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For ghostwriter107, who said "I really want to see Neal and Emma visit Belle. I would love to see Neal's reaction to Hamish and his uncanny resemblance to his father. How would he react? Would he think his father is alive and pulling some trick on Belle? Would he get emotional, because Hamish is more like the Spinner Rumpel that Neal idealized and adored as a boy? How would Henry and Emma react?"
> 
> This chapter doesn't answer all those questions, but it does answer some of them.

“Mornin’, Belle.”

“Morning, Hamish. What can I interest you in? Is today the day you finally give in and read Austen?”

“That day may come, but not yet.” He handed her his book. “Just droppin’ off, today.”

Belle took the book from his hand, her fingers brushing his lightly as they always did. Her touch sent a little shiver up his arm and down his spine.

He never used the bookdrop.

“Any great plans for the weekend?”

“Oh, aye,” she grinned. “I have another date with Will tonight.”

He smiled. The first time she’d told him that he’d been confused, as he didn’t know of any Will in town. “Oh? An’ which ay his tales will he be regalin’ you with?”

Her teeth caught her lower lip. “ _ Macbeth. _ ”

“...Oh.”

Belle’s lips twisted in a smirk. “Mmhmm. Just me, a glass of wine, and a mad Scotsman.”

Shite. Was that a line? It sounded like a line. 

He so  _ wanted _ it to be a line.

“That's your idea of a good time, is it?” he asked, leaning towards her a bit across the desk.

She smiled impishly and mimicked him so that their faces were only half a foot apart. “Definitely.”

Her lips were so close and surely,  _ surely _ he wasn’t imagining that hitch in her breath. Hamish leaned a little closer, catching a whiff of her flowery perfume, watching as her eyelids fluttered and her eyes dipped to his mouth.

The library door swung open and Belle practically flew backwards, her cheeks flaming. Hamish bit back a growl and kept his back to the newcomer, hoping whoever it was would bugger off.

“Excuse me, has anyone seen a lost little koala in these parts?” The American accent sounded grossly out of place to Hamish’s ears. He looked up just in time to see Belle light up like a Christmas tree.

“Neal!” she squealed. “Oh my  _ God _ !” She raced around the desk and Hamish turned to watch as she launched herself into the arms of a darkly handsome man. They hugged and laughed, and Hamish felt his gut cool and harden as he took stock of the intruder. Easily a couple of inches taller than him, dark wavy hair, twinkling dark eyes with just the smallest hint of crow’s feet at the corners, and a million-watt smile that he imagined would weaken the knees of any female in a ten-mile radius.

Hamish hated him.

Belle had drawn away from “Neal” and was gazing up into his face. “You look  _ amazing _ ,” she said. “New York agrees with you.”

“You look pretty great, too,” Neal said, squeezing her shoulders.

“How’s the family?” she asked.

“Good. Missing the others, y’know, but mostly we do okay.”

“Right.” Belle seemed to get lost for a moment staring into the man’s face, and Hamish wanted to hit something. He settled for clearing his throat. Both of them turned to look at him and the man froze, his face flashing the same disbelieving expression he’d seen on Belle the first time they met before she fainted dead away.

“Oh, God, sorry, where are my manners? Hamish, this is Neal Cassidy. Neal, Hamish Macbeth. He’s the constable here.”

“So you’re, uh...you're Hamish, huh?” Neal shook his head slightly, stepped forward, and held out his hand. His voice was oddly hoarse and his eyes were fixed on Hamish's face as if he were trying to see through his skull. “It’s, uh...it’s good to put a face to the name. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Och, really?” Hamish gripped the man’s hand tightly before immediately dropping it. “Wish I could say the same.” Neal’s eyebrows rose, the strange expression fading slowly to be replaced by faint amusement. “What brings you here, Mr. Cassidy?”

“Just checking up on Belle,” he answered, slinging an arm around her shoulders and squeezing. He still hadn't looked away from Hamish's face. “I know she’s smarter than pretty much anyone around and can take care of herself, but she said this place was home, so I thought I’d see what all the fuss was about.”

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Belle prodded.

“Oh, yeah. Reminds me a bit of my hometown.”

“Where is that, exactly?” Hamish asked.

“A little place you’ve never heard of.”

“Try me.”

Neal finally looked away and rolled his eyes. “Longbourn.”

Oh. He really had never heard of it. Damn.

“Well, I suppose I’ll leave you two tae... _ catch up _ ,” Hamish said quietly, hoping the man had a car parked outside. He shoved his hands in his pockets and strode out the door, tension in every muscle. There was a car, and Hamish stood in front of it for some time, debating his options. There was what he  _ could _ do, what he  _ wanted _ to do, and what he  _ should _ do, and the  _ could  _ and  _ wanted _ were winning the fight in a big way.

But he’d been trying, since losing both Alex and Isobel, to control his less...refined...instincts. He couldn’t help wanting to punch Cassidy in his handsome swarthy face, and he couldn’t help wanting to break every lamp on the bloody car, but he could walk away instead. So he did.

* * *

“Holy crap, you weren’t kidding.”

Belle, who had watched Hamish leave with a slight frown on her face, turned to Neal and saw that he looked shaken.

“You said he looked like my father, but...I mean, that is just  _ really weird _ .” His eyes looked a little misty and Belle put a hand on his arm.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just…” He took a deep breath. “I haven’t seen him in...how old is he, anyway?”

“Late thirties, at a guess.”

“Papa was thirty-six when I was born.” Neal’s voice was strained. “I never got to see him when he was...I mean he was never rich but there were better days when he was happy...when I knew him he was always poor and sad and…”

“He’s not your father.” Neal blinked and shook his head, and Belle took his hands and squeezed hard until he met her eyes. “Neal, he  _ isn’t. _ He was born in this land, in this town. His name is Hamish Macbeth and he has never stirred from this corner of the world his whole life. Glasgow and Lochdubh, that’s all he knows.”

“But he looks...and he  _ sounds… _ I kept waiting for him to call me 'Bae.' I swear, Belle, he..."

“I know.  _ Believe me _ , I know. But they’re not the same man.”

At last Neal nodded, breathing deeply. “Sorry. I didn’t think he'd be so…or that _I'd_...”

“It’s okay.”

“You said it would be a shock. I feel a little dizzy.”

“I fainted, if that makes you feel any better.”

Laughing, Neal pulled her into a tight hug. “God, you’re the best. Show me around this town of yours.”

* * *

The town was abuzz with the news of the visitor. Belle had closed the library at midday in honor of escorting her guest around town, hanging on his arm and laughing at his jokes. Try as he might, Hamish couldn’t escape them. If he didn’t seem them personally, he heard of them from the townsfolk. Speculation was rampant. She’d never mentioned a boyfriend, but perhaps she hadn’t expected to see him again. It was all anyone talked about.

Later that night, Belle and Neal treated the entire village to a demonstration of the fact that handsome blokes from the city had the upper hand over short constables from the backcountry. They weren’t at all physically affectionate - even sat on opposite sides of the table - but they talked and laughed and smiled all through dinner, and Hamish was fairly sure he was going to be sick.

He’d been at the bar for nearly two hours before Belle apparently noticed him, and then all of a sudden she was at his side, all breathless smiles and glowing eyes, and begging him to join them.

“You really should,” she pressed. “I think you’d like Neal a lot. You have so much in common.”

“I’ll bit we dae,” he muttered, draining his glass of whiskey. “Nae thenk ye, I’m braw whaur I am.”

“What?” she leaned closer to him. “I can’t understand you when your brogue gets that thick.”

“I said,” he enunciated carefully, “leave. me. alone.”

Belle drew back as if he’d slapped her, and he felt a little bad about that, but then he was a little scared because her face hardened and she gripped his shoulder and pulled him off the stool. “Get outside,” she snapped. “Right now.”

Shite, she was terrifying like this. He squirmed away from the painful pressure of her long fingernails as she half-pushed, half-pulled him out the door and onto the sidewalk. “Jesus, hen, yer hans ur loch claws!” he hissed.

“Oh.” Her anger dissipated to be replaced by concern, and she released him and rubbed his shoulder tenderly. “I’m sorry, I...I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Well, I’m out now. Whit dae ye want?” He tried to be unaffected by the gentle pressure of her hands soothing away his hurt.

“I want to know why you were short with Neal this morning and downright mean to me just now.”

Oh, hell. He wasn’t even close to ready to have this conversation. He shrugged. “Bad day. Sorry.”

Her eyebrows lowered. “You were perfectly pleasant until he showed up.”

Well, yeah, when he thought he was finally going to get to kiss her, he’d been practically jolly. Hamish shrugged and looked at the ground, feeling like a child receiving a scolding for bad behavior.

“Hamish, you’re not...you’re not  _ jealous _ of Neal.”

Of course he was. He was so jealous he could hardly see straight. But he couldn’t tell her that.

“No, ay course no',” he muttered, digging the toe of one shoe into the pavement.

“You are.” Belle sounded awed and remorseful all at once.

“Shouldnae be,” he said a little more clearly. “It’s no' as if we...we…”

Belle took a deep breath and tugged on his arm, leading him across the street to sit on the low wall there. She dropped her hand from his sleeve and folded her hands in her lap. “Neal isn’t my boyfriend or lover or anything like that,” she said calmly, looking past his shoulder and out at the sea. “He’s my...well, I guess you could call him my stepson.”

“Eh?” Hamish twisted his head until he could look into her eyes. “How’s that? He’s your bloody age!”

Shrugging, Belle began to fidget with the hem of her shirt. “I know I’ve mentioned a man in my past. He was...well, he was a bit older than me. We didn’t have the chance to get married, but I got used to thinking of Neal as my stepson.” She smiled shyly at him. “He’s married with a kid, so I guess I’m a step-grandmother, too.”

“Hell,” Hamish breathed. “I’m sorry, Belle.” He felt like an ass, spoiling her reunion with someone so important to her.

“Me too. I should’ve told you about him. Of course,” she added wryly, “it’s hard to find a casual way to work your grown sort-of-stepson into the conversation.” He snorted a laugh and silence stretched between them for a few minutes.

“You ne’er talk about him, y’know,” Hamish said at last.

“Neal?”

“Nah, his dad.” Hamish racked his brains for the man’s name and came up empty. “I dinnae think ye’ve even told me his name.”

Belle dropped her gaze to her hands and was quiet for so long Hamish worried she was angry. “Gold,” she finally whispered. “His name was Roderick Gold.” He didn’t press her, and it was another minute or so before she spoke again. “He didn’t have the best reputation. He was wily and manipulative and cunning and ambitious. Everyone said so. But with me...with me he wasn’t like that. I mean, he  _ was _ , but he was also sweet and gentle and generous and loving. God, he had so much love to give, but he was convinced no one wanted it. It took him ages to realize I really loved him.”

“You said he died?”

“Yes. Two and a half years ago.” Belle’s eyes glazed over as she stared out to sea. “Protecting us. Neal and me.”

“From what?”

He didn’t know what he was expecting - muggers, fire, killer bees - but her words knocked him breathless. “His father.”

Anger bubbled up in him. “Mean bugger, was he?”

“He was a foul, evil man,” Belle whispered, pulling her arms around her body. “He hated Roderick, really, actually hated him. His own son. How does someone  _ do  _ that?” Hamish shook his head and draped a tentative arm across her shoulders. “They hadn’t seen each other in years, but Malcolm showed up one day and...and wanted something from him. Roderick wouldn’t give in, so Malcolm went after me and Neal. Roderick stopped him but only just, and the effort killed him.”

“Christ, _mo ghraidh_ ,” he muttered pulling her closer. “I’m sorry.”

“At first I couldn’t fall asleep without reliving it all,” Belle sighed, “and it was terrible, but...I think the first day I woke up and realized that I hadn’t thought about him once the whole day before was worse. I know I’m supposed to heal, to move on, but it still feels wrong, y’know? To go days or even a week without thinking about the day my life changed forever, or imagining his response to some remark, or thinking I just heard him come in from work. I loved him so much.”

Hamish took a deep breath and squeezed her in his arms. “Thank you for tellin’ me,” he murmured.

Belle pulled away from him and studied him seriously, her eyes growing sadder and more thoughtful by the second.

“What is it?”

“There’s something else I should tell you, because Neal might slip up and say something eventually, and if he brings his family out here, Emma and Henry  _ definitely _ will. Not much of a filter with those two.”

“Okay.”

“I’m just afraid of how you’ll take it.”

“I’ll try no' tae overreact.”

“Not sure that’s possible,” Belle muttered, and then cleared her throat. “Do you...do you remember the night we met?”

“When you fainted on me? Aye. Difficult tae forget, that.”

“Well, I wasn’t sick or dizzy or suffering from jet lag or highway hypnosis or anything like that,” Belle sighed. “It really was you. You surprised me...scared me.”

“What?” He was flabbergasted. “What did I dae to scare you?”

“Nothing.” Belle fidgeted. “It’s just that - apart from the fact that you’re at least twenty years younger, you look enough like Rum to be his twin.” He turned to stare at her. “And I don’t just mean the same coloring and height. I mean you’re identical in every way except for the length of your hair...and that his had some gray.”

“So when you saw me on the road…”

“It was like he’d come back from the dead.”

Hamish was silent, absorbing this information, and he felt the overreaction she feared growing inside him. Was  _ this _ why she appeared to like him? Because he resembled her former lover? When he flirted with her did she imagine Gold before her using his face and words? When he touched her hand did she think of him? Had she meant to replace Gold with a newer model? He glanced up and met her eyes, which were huge and dark with worry, her teeth scoring her lower lip painfully, and he took a deep breath. He knew the answers to all those questions, of course. Belle was too smart to delude herself, at least not for long. She knew he wasn’t Gold, and she either wanted him or not. Same as always, right? Either a woman wanted you or she didn’t. Of course, in his experience mostly she didn’t, not for any significant length of time.

“Small wonder he looked like I’d slapped him,” he said at last.

“Yeah, it...it was a shock.”

They both stared at the moonlight on the water for a few silent moments, and then Hamish turned to her. “You should go back in. I’m sorry for being an idiot.”

“You weren’t, it was a perfectly natural assumption to make.” Her eyes flitted over his face for a moment. When she kissed his cheek, he finally had the nerve to reciprocate and tried not to grin too broadly when she blushed. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” she asked.

“Always.”


	11. Justice Cauld and Stern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamish's conscience has been eating at him since Belle told him about Gold, and he feels it's time to come clean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the tags, but fair warning that there is mention/mild discussion of suicidal thoughts in this chapter. Hamish has been through a world of pain, but he's getting better.
> 
> I've read a lot of Scottish poetry over the last few months looking for chapter titles for this fic. This is what they call the opposite of a problem.

“Is everything okay?” Neal asked when Belle slid back into her seat.

“Yeah, fine. He, uh - we had a miscommunication. About us.”

“You and me?”

Belle nodded.

“He was jealous,” Neal concluded.

“A little.”

“Right.” Neal leaned back in his seat and studied her. When her face began to redden, he grinned. “You _like_ him.”

“Of course I do.”

“No, I mean you _care_ about him. Maybe even love him.”

Belle ducked her head and studied her chips. _Did_ she love Hamish? He was kind and clever and thoughtful, and far too handsome for his own good. She liked him. She definitely _wanted_ him. But love him?

She wasn’t even sure she would know if she did. What she felt when she talked to Hamish - that slow, sweet warmth that glowed in her chest like embers - was so very different from the burning, desperate ache that had consumed her when she was with Rumplestiltskin. Their love had been fireworks and lightning and crackling flames, and she’d known it was love because she recognized its description from her favorite books. Not to mention that the magical proof of True Love’s Kiss was a good indicator. Without that, how could anyone in this land be sure of love?

But they must have some way of recognizing love. Rory and Esme glowed with it; Barney and Agnes, for all they bickered and teased, adored one another; Lachie and Jean were utterly devoted. Whether True Love was a phenomenon that appeared in all the realms, or whether this particular town had unseen qualities, Belle wasn’t sure, but if the citizens of Lochdubh could know love, surely she could learn to as well.

“I don’t know,” she said at last.

“Well, he’s obviously pretty crazy about you. I thought he was gonna deck me one in the library.”

Belle rolled her eyes. He was probably right.

“I know it feels wrong, but you know Papa would want you to be happy, right?”

“I know.” If there was one thing in this world she could be sure of, it was that Rumple had loved her and wanted the best for her.

Neal eyed her as if he wasn’t fully convinced, but he took a drink and let the subject drop. “Do you ever think about coming back?”

Belle shook her head. “This is where I want to be now, and I don’t plan on leaving.”

“Even if the others find their way back somehow?”

“Even then.” Belle reached for his hand and squeezed it. “If you ever need me for anything, of course I’ll do whatever I can. But...I’m _happy_ here, Neal. Happier than I’ve been in ages.” He smiled wanly, and Belle narrowed her eyes. “What is it?”

“I just…” Neal sighed. “I told you we were fine, but the truth is...I don’t know. Emma looked for her parents for so long, y’know? She had them for...what? A few months? And now they’re gone forever. And Henry - he found Emma, but he lost Regina, and he misses her.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Hell, I think Emma misses her, too.”

“I don’t know Emma’s parents very well,” Belle said gently, “but they don’t seem the type to give up. If there’s a way back, they’ll find it, of that I’m certain.”

“ _If_ there’s a way. Papa spent three hundred years searching, and he was the most powerful wizard in the realms.”

She didn’t know what to say to that.

“Anyway, I’m glad you’re happy. I’ve been a little worried about you, but you’re okay.”

“Yeah, I’m good. Save your worrying for Henry’s maths scores.”

“Oh, God, I thought his teacher was gonna kill us,” Neal groaned, and Belle giggled as he launched into a story about disastrous parent-teacher conferences. She thought of Rumple and smiled. They were all doing well, and he’d be pleased.

* * *

Belle’s story had been eating at Hamish for a week.

The magnitude of her loss had rocked him; he’d never really been able to picture what could have driven her around the world for years, miles and miles from anyone or anything familiar. Some people - most, even - would have buckled under such a blow, but Belle - she seemed to have taken the tragedies of her past and melded them with her bones, making her strong and supple and nigh indestructible. He’d always liked her. Over time he’d grown to respect and admire her. But now…

Well, now he knew just how far out of his league she really was.

And of course, because there was really no end to his idiocy and talent for self-torment, he’d chosen that moment on the wall to fall head over heels in love with her.

He visited the library every day because he couldn’t keep away, but every hour in her presence reminded him that she was everything he wasn’t, and that she still didn’t know the whole, unvarnished, damning truth about him. He would have to tell her sooner or later - if he didn’t some busybody in the town might - but he dreaded that moment. Even more, he lived in terror of the moment she looked into his eyes and _knew_.

There would be no more cozy chats in the library after that, no more companionable walks home, no more friendly tea invitations. A little flirtation - innuendo, possible stolen kisses, maybe even a night of mutual satisfaction - was one thing. What he felt - he couldn’t fool himself into thinking she felt anything close to it. She’d be uncomfortable, and he’d be the cause. He couldn’t bear that.

So here he was, walking her home and trying not to look at her for too long or brush his arm against hers too often or call her something stupid like “darling” or “sweetheart.” He was concentrating so very hard on being friendly and neutral that he didn’t realize she’d gone very quiet until they reached her house.

“Have I done something to upset you?” she asked when they were at her gate, and Hamish started.

“What? Ay course not!”

“You’ve been a little distant recently. Are you sure I haven’t done or said something wrong?”

He met her gaze then, and Belle’s eyes widened. Whatever she saw in his expression, it wasn’t good.

“What is it? What’s happened?”

“Nothing. It’s just…” Hamish lifted one shoulder and sighed. “I have tae tell you something, and I don’ really want to.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” Belle frowned, shaking her head.

“Aye, I do. ‘s only fair. You should...have all the facts. About me.”

A strange expression, something like guilt, flickered across her face. “I - If you _really_ want to tell me something, I’ll listen, but...Hamish, you don’t owe me anything, understand?”

“Yeah, I understand.” He glanced up and down the street. “D’you mind if we talk inside?”

Belle took him into her living room, insisted on brewing tea and scrounging up some biscuits, and then sat on the couch next to him, her back against the armrest and her knees pulled up to her chest. His tea sat on the table in front of him and it was rapidly cooling, but he didn’t trust his hands to hold the cup steady.

“Is it about...Isobel?” she asked when he’d sat nearly five minutes in silence.

“Yes...and no.” He took a deep breath and fixed his eyes on his hands. “I told you I was engaged once. It wasnae to Isobel. Alex. Alexandra Maclean.”

“Isn’t that…”

“Yeah, she was Major Maclean’s daughter.” Hamish winced at the past tense, but soldiered on. “She was...she was bloody brilliant. Beautiful, too. I was mad for her from the minute we met.”

He still saw her lovely face in his dreams sometimes, always angry and hurt and accusing. Belle was silent, her gaze locked on her knees.

“Alex was a writer. She loved books and words and ideas and...well, Lochdubh just wasnae big enough for her. She needed scope. I dunno what that means, really, but that was what she said when she left for London. Four years ago, now.”

“Was that when you met Isobel?”

“Ah, no, I’d known Isobel just as long. A bit longer, actually, Alex and I didn’t meet until a few months after I got here - she’d been traveling in France.” Hamish scratched the back of his neck, trying to work out how best to unravel this tangled knot of feelings and history. “Alex and I - we never really - quite got it together. When we _were_ together things were grand, but she wanted me to go with her and I - I just couldn’t. The city - it’s no’ for me, and Lochdubh wasnae for her. It was hard, but we both accepted it. I _thought_ we did, at least.

“And _then_ Isobel,” he sighed. “She was brilliant, too. Beautiful. And God, she was crazy about me, had been for months. I knew it, too. I tried not tae to take advantage, but…it was nice, after the mess with Alex, to have someone like me that much.”

When Hamish glanced at Belle, she looked thoughtful, but not disgusted. She still didn’t say anything, so he pushed on.

“I dunno when exactly it happened, but I fell for her, too. We were getting closer, and I was just about ready to make a move, when something - well, there was a bit of a disaster and she told me she loved me. And then out of nowhere, there was Alex, and she was asking me to marry her.”

Belle looked up, her eyes wide. “How long had she been gone?”

“Two years, at that point. She’d been back for a week or so in between, but yeah, two years.”

“And she just...showed up and asked you to marry her?”

Hamish shrugged.

“And you said yes?”

“She loved me,” he said helplessly. “And I...I was supposed to love her. She’d come back for _me_ , to be with _me_. I owed it to her to try, didn’t I?”

“But you didn’t love her.”

“No. Hell, I wish I did, but I didn’t.” He took a deep breath. “She moved into the station house but I kept putting off the actual getting married part. And Isobel was still around, and I was still so mad for her, I couldnae help it.”

“You were unfaithful,” Belle whispered, squeezing her knees closer to her chest.

“Yeah. Yeah, I was.” Hamish sighed and didn’t blame her when she frowned and looked away from him. “I _truly_ didn’t mean to be. I told myself it was just a kiss, but I knew it was more than that. I heard someone say something once: ‘unfaithful in his heart.’ That was me, right enough. Unfaithful to _both_ of them, really, when you think about it.”

“Esme said Isobel moved to Glasgow,” Belle said slowly, “but she never mentioned Alex.”

“Yeah, most people don’t.” Hamish crossed his arms over his chest and pulled tight, wishing he could skip through this part to the end. “She found out about me and Isobel. Not directly, mind, but she guessed. She called it all off. And then a few days later...we had a fight. Doesn’t matter now what about. She tried to leave town.”

He felt his blood turn to ice and he fought against the shivers that always assailed him when he thought about that awful night.

“It was stormin’ somethin’ fierce. I guess she wanted tae get out as fast as possible - she tried tae go over Devil’s Hump. The best we could figure - the best we could figure it, the van - it slid off the road and - and she got out tae see what was wrong - only she didnae know how close she was tae th’ bank.”

With a jolt Hamish realized Belle had moved closer to him and slid one arm around his shoulders, which were shaking violently. She pressed her forehead into his upper arm and squeezed tight, and he took a deep breath and licked his dry lips. They were salty with tears and he blinked. He’d been crying.

“I’m sorry, Hamish,” Belle whispered, her other hand rubbing his arm soothingly. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t,” he snapped, and she shied away. “I don’t...I killed her, a’right? Sure as we’re sittin’ here. She was here because of me, she left because of me, and she died because of me. It’s my fault, all of it.”

Belle was quiet for a long moment. She had moved away, but not as far away as she had been in the beginning.

“When Rum died, I felt guilty,” she said at last.

“It’s not the same,” he ground out, anger bubbling up in his throat.

“I hated myself for weeks. I thought, ‘What if I’d noticed what was wrong earlier? What if I’d been a little stronger, a little smarter, a little faster? Could I have kept Malcolm from cornering me and Neal? Could I have protected myself and not forced Rum to save me?”

“You said yersen the man was evil, Belle,” he said impatiently. “I know what yer tryin’ tae do, but it’s different. You didnae drive someone tae her death.”

“I know it feels like that’s what happened,” she said gently, and he wanted to throw the teacup across the room, watch it shatter in a million pieces and stain her pretty new pale yellow rug. “Was it your van she was driving, then?”

“No, ah...it was Lachie’s. He was using it for his radio station, and it’d just been shut down.”

Belle frowned, momentarily distracted. “Radio station?”

“Long story.”

“So...Lachie loaned her his van?”

“Yeah.”

“And...if he hadn’t?”

Hamish blinked at her. “I, uh...I dunno.”

“You said you fought after a few days. Why did she wait so long to leave?”

“She was reading _Far From the Madding Crowd_ on Lachie’s station. She promised everyone she’d stay ‘til she was done. That’s what we fought about, actually. The radio station was illegal and the feds came to shut ‘er down. I put ‘em off the scent as long as I could, but in the end...I _am_ the constable, after all. I had to do my job.”

“So if she’d left earlier she wouldn’t have been out in the storm?”

His head felt fuzzy. “I…”

“You hurt her very badly, I’m not denying that,” Belle said, her voice still low and gentle. “You made a lot of wrong choices. But so did she. She _chose_ to come back. She _chose_ to be with you. And in the end, she _chose_ to leave.”

“But I…”

“Was Alex weak and foolish and easy to persuade?”

Despite everything he almost laughed. No, Alex could never have been described as any of the those things; she’d always been as strong-minded and stubborn as he. “Not a wee bit.”

“She made her own choices. It wasn’t all your fault. We choose our own fates. I’m not saying you weren’t wrong, because you were. Very wrong. But you didn’t kill her.” He couldn’t answer her. He couldn’t even tell what he was feeling, let alone put it into words. She got to her feet and took their teacups, now long gone cold, and took them into the kitchen. He had a strong suspicion that she cared less about tidying up and more about giving him a bit of space.

That was all well and good, but he wasn’t finished destroying himself in her eyes, and he hoped she wouldn’t be gone too long.

“There’s more,” he said seriously when she came back, and finally the calm mask of her face slipped and he could see worry etched into her eyes.

“Oh?”

“We had an island, Alex and me. I mean, it wasnae really _ours_ , but we went there a lot when we wanted tae be alone.” He took a deep breath. “After Alex’s funeral, I took a leave of absence. Needed time tae grieve, I said. I went out to our island and...and I wasnae planning on comin’ back.”

He heard Belle take a shaky breath beside him. “But,” she said quietly, “you did.”

“Yeah. Made a friend on that beach. An older lady out for a stroll, stepped on a landmine and couldnae move. I stayed wi’ her. I figured if I could help her, that’d be grand. If not...well, it was as good a way to go as any.”

“Oh, Hamish.” Her eyes were swimming with tears and he knew she wanted to reach out for him again. He was glad she didn’t.

“She talked me through it, though. Reminded me of all the people back here I cared about. Can you imagine that? A woman standing on the brink of her own death tryin’ tae talk down the coward with a death wish.” He shook his head, a tiny smile on his lips at the memory. “Saved my life, she did.”

“What was her name?”

“It was…” Hamish turned to look at her fully. “Well, how about that? Her name was Belle. Belle Carter. We wrote each other for awhile, ‘til she died last year. Safe and warm in her bed, her kids told me.”

“You saved her life, too,” Belle pointed out.

Quietly he thought about that. “Guess I did,” he said. “I dunno as it counts, though. I wasnae exactly worried about my own safety, after all.”

“So you’re saying that if you weren’t so sad and angry and hurt, you’d have left her on the beach to die?”

“What? No! No, I could never…” His voice trailed off and he could see exactly what she meant. “You’re clever, you are,” he sighed, meeting her eyes once more.

“So I’ve been told,” she smiled.

They sat in silence, his truths swirling about them, and Hamish knew only Belle could decide what effect they would have on their relationship, such as it was. He’d never met anyone like Belle for absorbing darkness and creating light where there seemed to be none, so she supposed he would have to trust her. If there was a way for them to remain friends after his confessions, he knew she would find it.

“Thank you,” she said suddenly, “for telling me.”

“‘s fine. I probably should have told you awhile ago, but…” He shrugged.

“No, you told me when you were ready to tell me. That was the perfect time,” she said firmly. “And...I should tell you some things, too, but...not tonight.”

“Yeah, okay. Whenever ye’re ready.”

He didn’t know how he knew, but he had the feeling she meant to tell him whatever she’d told John that night in his caravan. Somehow he doubted a dead lover and secret stepson would take an entire night to discuss; there was more to her than she’d let on. While he’d been impatient and suspicious a few months ago, he was willing now to wait and trust her to tell him when she was ready.

Walking home that night, it occurred to Hamish that he’d never actually spoken to anyone about Alex and Isobel, and he’d thought he never would. Even TV John didn’t know the depth of his betrayal of Alex, but Belle, with her open face and sweet sympathy, had dragged the whole story out of him as if by magic. He felt lighter than he had in years, and he even smiled a little. It was perhaps a little too soon to say that things were looking up for him, but at least they didn’t look as bleak as they had that morning.

* * *

The bell at the front desk of the hotel rang and rang until Alice simply couldn’t pretend not to hear it anymore. What sort of lunatic needed a room at two in the morning? Shrugging into her robe, she shuffled out into the lobby without even bothering to look in the mirror. At this hour they were lucky enough to see her at all.

“What is it?” she snapped.

“A room for one, please.”

Agnes squinted up at the source of the voice, a tall man with a mop of brown hair. “How  many nights?”

“Let’s start with two and see what happens.”

“Name?”

“Christoph Walsh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


	12. The Net of a Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mysterious new stranger announces his intentions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I always intended this story to be a sort of alternate universe season 3, which means yes, there will be Zelena involvement. Her end - and the ends of a few other characters - will be much more satisfying to me personally.
> 
> I just hope everyone is willing to see this through to the end. I do have everything planned out!

Belle had been distracted all morning, not least because Hamish hadn’t come in, though she’d honestly expected that. Their conversation the night before had been emotionally draining, and she understood that he would probably need some time to regroup and poke some of those feelings back into their usual corners. His courage in revealing so much to her had both thrilled and humbled her. Pain had been evident in every word and gesture, but he hadn’t made excuses or tried to justify his actions. He was a far better man than he gave himself credit for.

Her own secrets now weighed on her more heavily than ever, but really, how on Earth was she supposed to tell him the truth? If he didn’t think she was delusional, he’d think she was lying, and somehow she suspected that would be worse.

Belle sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache coming on.

“Excuse me.”

She blinked and looked up at the unfamiliar voice.

“Hi,” the tall man said with a smile and outstretched hand. “I’m Christoph Walsh.”

“Belle French,” Belle smiled back, taking his hand. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I hope so.” Mr. Walsh tucked his hands in his pockets and bent towards her. “I’m a writer - a folklorist, really - and I’ve been traveling around Scotland collecting local stories. I don’t suppose you have any books on that topic, do you?”

“I do.” Belle led him to a section she’d set aside specifically for books on local topics. “That sounds like an interesting study. Where have you been so far?”

He named a few small towns nearby and told her a few of the stories he’d heard. “I’d like to interview locals as well,” he concluded.

“Well, the Stag is the perfect place for that. There are several people here who’d be more than happy to bend your ear.”

His smile brightened a notch. “I don’t suppose, uh,  _ you’d  _ care to accompany me?”

“Oh!” Belle blinked. “That’s very kind of you, but I’m not really local, I don’t know any stories.” The flirtatious gleam hadn’t left his eyes and Belle looked away. “I’m a bit busy here, but perhaps I’ll see you there later.”

“I certainly hope so.” He straightened and walked over to a table with his armful of books. Pulling a large notepad from his messenger bag, he sat and carefully arranged the books around him. He glanced up and met her eyes. “Well, it’s not as if I can check them out, is it?” he pointed out with a grin.

Belle shook her head and went back to the desk, aware of the scratch of his pen and the flutter of the pages as he took notes. She glanced at him now and then as he sat there, but he didn’t look up again, seemingly completely absorbed in his task. American, according to his accent. Tall and good-looking, mop of brown hair, dark eyes. She’d never heard of a folklorist named Walsh, but perhaps he was just starting out. A few patrons came in and out, shooting him curious looks, but he paid them no attention.

After a few hours he closed all the books and stacked them, then carried them to the desk. “I don’t suppose I could persuade you to hold these to the side for a little while?”

“I guess I could,” she smiled, pushing the stack to one side of the desk. “I doubt there’ll be a sudden run on local folklore.”

“Thanks for all your help,” he said cheerfully, shouldering his bag. “Maybe I’ll see you later? The Stag, you said?”

She nodded and avoided his eyes; the twinkle was back.

“Okay, then. Have a great day, Belle.”

* * *

“Another incomer? I dinnae like it,” Lachlan McCrae grumbled into his beer, eyeing the new man at the bar.

“He spent the morning at the library,” Lachie whispered. “Don’t suppose he knows Belle, like that other American did?”

“Thought she didnae have anyone,” Barney said peevishly. “Sure are a lot of visitors poppin’ up for someone who…”

“Well, this is a lovely little party.” Hamish appeared over Lachlan’s shoulder and smiled grimly. “And whose life are we discussin’ today?”

The three men glanced at the American and Hamish raised his eyebrows. “A tourist, eh? Showin’ up in Lochdubh in the height of tourist season? Stranger things have happened.”

“He was at the  _ library _ today,” Lachie hissed. “ _ Reading. _ ”

Hamish pressed a hand to his heart. “Reading! In the library! My, my.”

“There’s somethin’ funny about…”

Hamish interrupted Lachlan with an impatient gesture. “Don’t suppose ye’ve actually talked tae the man?”

“I…”

Huffing, Hamish turned to walk away and found himself face to face with the man himself. “Evening, gentlemen,” Walsh said.

“Evenin’.” “Aye.” “‘Lo.” Lochdubh’s own three stooges muttered into their beers and Hamish hid a grin.

“Mr. Meldrum, I wondered if I could get your advice,” the stranger turned to Barney, who turned pink.

“Advice? From me? I mean, ah...ay course. What can I do for you?”

“Well, I’d hoped to interview a few of your patrons for my book on Scottish folklore. As a mixologist and local entrepreneur I knew you’d have your finger on the pulse of the town. Who would you recommend?”

Barney’s face was nearly red with pleasure, his eyes shining and his chest puffed out. “Well, since you’ve asked my opinion, Mr. Walsh, I’d start with Lachlan and his boy Lachie, Jr., here. They travel all around the area and see a lot of strange things.”

“Is that so? What sort of things?” Walsh sat in the stool next to Lachlan and pulled out a small notepad and pencil, ready to be engrossed.

It was all very well done, Hamish thought as Lachlan swelled with self-importance and began to recount the time he’d seen the ghost of a madman on the road north of town. Walsh was a smooth talker and no mistake. And if he could keep those three from making idiots of themselves for even a few hours, it would be a wonder.

The bar doors swung open and Belle walked in. Hamish felt his heart squeeze in his chest when she sent him a small smile and a wave before taking a seat at one of the booths. It’d been hard, staying away from the library, but he knew that if he saw her too soon and she was just that little bit too kind to him, he’d be spilling truths that had no business being uttered just yet.

Like how the red-brown color of her hair in the sunlight was his new favorite. Like how he wanted to pat himself on the back every time he made her laugh. Like how if she asked for them he’d bring her the sun and moon and stars and thank her for the privilege of the errand.

Esme had joined Belle at her booth and he breathed a sigh of relief. Disaster averted, for the moment; he turned back to listen to the tales the McCraes were spinning for the stranger. Lachie, Jr., was winding up the story of the mysterious disappearing dog he’d seen a few times in his yard - Hamish was actually fairly sure the dog was the neighbor’s and they just didn’t want to own up to its wandering Lachie’s yard at will - and Walsh was nodding and scribbling as if he’d never heard anything more fascinating.

“And you, Mr. Macbeth?”

“Me?” Hamish started. Walsh and the other men were all staring at him expectantly.

“Yes, you. You have occasion to investigate all sorts of odd things, I would think. Ever come across anything you couldn’t explain rationally?”

Unbidden images of the woman who had called herself Rose flashed in his brain. A ghost, if she was indeed dead, intent on bringing her nephew’s killer’s to justice. She wasn’t a part of local legend, though, and he’d never mentioned her to anyone but TV John.

“I dunno,” he hedged. “I suppose it would depend on what you mean by ‘rational.’”

“So...no brushes with the supernatural or the otherworldly?”

Hamish shrugged, an odd warm prickle crawling under his skin as Walsh’s scrutiny of him became more intense. “Mebbe? Hard tae say. Let me think on it, aye?”

“Do. I’d appreciate your perspective.”

And with that Walsh’s eyes dropped from his and Hamish felt his skin begin to cool. The others had returned to their beers, but Walsh stood and pocketed his notebook. “Thank you for your input, gentlemen,” he said with a smile. “If I need anything else, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

* * *

Belle watched with slightly narrowed eyes as Walsh left the bar; he hadn’t acknowledged her presence, but she had the odd feeling that he’d known she was there all the same. Shaking her head, she returned her attention to Esme, who was positively glowing with excitement.

“The children are just wild for it,” she said, “and the printer the  _ Listener _ uses is willing to give us a good rate. What do you think?”

“A literary magazine? It sounds wonderful, Esme,” Belle smiled, dragging her mind back into the conversation.

“I’ve already planned a unit on poetry, and...well, I’d love it if we could use the library as a workspace, Belle.”

“Of course! It’s a public space, after all. Will you need any special materials?”

“I don’t think so; it’ll mainly be deciding on layouts and things like that. I figure a community journal like this, all contributions should be included, don’t you think? As long as they’re appropriate for young audiences, of course.”

“We could hold a reading, too,” Belle pointed out. “If any of the poets want to read their work in public. It’s great practice for public speaking.”

“Och, I knew we’d be great friends,” Esme enthused, grasping Belle’s hand. “You  _ understand _ the importance of the written word, Belle. I haven’t had a friend like that in…” Her face suddenly shuttered. “Well. It’s been a while.”

Quickly Belle turned her hand over and squeezed Esme’s. “I know,” she said quietly. “Hamish told me about...about Alex.”

“He did?” Esme looked as if she didn’t quite know what to do with that information. “Goodness. I don’t think he’s so much as mentioned her name to anyone since...since she passed.”

“I’m sorry. You must have been devastated.”

“I was. We all were. She was one of our own, educated right here in Lochdubh School.” Tears pooled in Esme’s eyes. “Taught her myself, if you can believe that. High school English. And then she went on to write for a living, published her own book...mentioned me in the ‘thank yous’...nothing could ever make a teacher prouder than that.” Esme pulled away and brought out a handkerchief, dabbing at her eyes. “She’d have done more, I know it. Why she thought driving in that rain was a good idea…”

A weight lifted off Belle’s chest as she inferred that Esme didn’t blame Hamish for Alex’s death. And if  _ she _ didn’t, someone so close to the woman and obviously partial to her, then probably few, if any, did. It was such a novel experience for her, hearing people assign responsibility and blame where it actually belonged instead of choosing an easy scapegoat.

“Anyway.” Esme shook her head and smiled gently at Belle again. “I’m trying to convince Rory to submit one of his original works, but he’s...a little sensitive about changing them. They’re a bit...well, heated.”

“With a muse like his, who can blame him?” Belle teased, and Esme laughed.

They set up a tentative schedule for Esme and the older children to use the library as their base of operations, and then Belle glanced at the bar. Hamish was still there, a glass of beer untouched in front of him as he nodded along to something TV John was saying. John caught her eye and gave her a courtly little tip of his hat, which made her blush.

Ever since she’d told him the truth about her life, he’d treated her with far more formality than she’d known since she was a young lady in her father’s keep. He insisted on calling her “my lady” and spoke to her with a sort of reverence she wasn’t used to. She smiled to herself when Hamish saw his odd gesture; he frowned a little, and then softened when he saw her sitting with Esme.

“And what about the two of you?”

“Hm?” Belle looked back to see that Esme was smiling knowingly.

“Any further developments? Did you ever get him to move those chairs for you?”

“No, I - I hired the McCraes for that.”

“Hmm.”

“Esme…”

“So help me, Belle, if you say ‘It’s not like that,’ or ‘We’re just friends,’ I will tip this drink over your bonnie wee head.”

Startled into laughter, Belle shook her head helplessly. “I wouldn’t insult your intelligence like that,” she gasped finally. “We’re getting closer, but...it’ll take time. I promise,” she grinned, “if anything happens, you’ll be the second person to know.”

* * *

Hamish waited until Esme and Belle had both left the bar before heading for his own house. The summer air soothed him, and he thought if all went well tonight - no nightmares or visitations of a guilty conscience - he might be able to visit the library at his normal time the next day. Strolling down the main street, he breathed deeply and then frowned; a man’s voice was coming from the small yard behind the church. Carefully he stepped closer and leaned against the brick wall. He recognized Walsh’s American accent immediately.

“...you’re sure? Isn’t there some way to…”

There was a pause.

“No, of course I don’t mean to question you. It’s only that things are a little more complicated here than we thought. She won’t be easy to persuade.”

_ She? Persuade to what? _

“Well, of course I did. But I don’t think…” Walsh sighed. “Very well. It will be done.” He listened a little longer and then his voice grew impatient. “I must go, I’m rather exposed here.” Another pause. “No, this is the only place I can get a strong enough reception. Certainly.”

Hamish had about five seconds’ warning before Walsh rounded the corner of the church, tucking something into his pocket.

“Constable.” His voice was pleasant enough, but Hamish’s instincts prickled. Walsh’s eyes were cold and unreadable, his posture slightly defensive. “Lovely evening.”

“Aye.” Hamish studied him carefully. “Bit out of the way from the hotel for a phone call, though.”

“I’ve an affinity for these old churches. There’s something mystical about them, if that isn’t too heretical a thought.” He caressed the bricks and smiled disarmingly, his eyes warming again. “A bit like a conduit, I suppose, to the spiritual world. That is why we have them, after all, isn’t it? To communicate with the divine?”

“I, ah, suppose so.” After a few moments of awkward silence, Hamish shrugged. “Well, I’d best be gettin’ on. Take care, Mr. Walsh.”

“The same to you, Mr. Macbeth.”

Hamish watched, his mind whirling, as Mr. Walsh loped back towards the Lochdubh Hotel. Idiots the three in the bar might be, but there was something mighty strange about Mr. Christoph Walsh. Even if it all came to nothing, there could be no harm in keeping an eye out.


	13. The Thing That Matters Most

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle and Hamish spend a little time together and Belle is just not ready to wait much longer.

Mr. Walsh was at his accustomed table in the library again, pen scratching away, his face inscrutable as he worked, stacks of books piled up around him like a fortress. From behind the circulation desk, Belle kept one eye on him and the other on the teen-aged boys engrossed in a new auto magazine. Whenever she had to wander into his section of the library to re-shelve or tidy up, he would look up and catch her eye, smile slightly, occasionally ask her a question, but he’d stopped flirting, thank heavens. Belle was determined to move things forward with Hamish and, knowing now how easily his jealousy was aroused, she didn’t need any further complications. Her previous romantic experiences hadn’t prepared her to deal with that particular emotion.

Rumple had never been jealous of her affections. She’d never sought to make him jealous, and anyway no one in their right mind would attempt to woo the Dark One’s girlfriend away from him. The closest anyone had ever gotten to flirting with her had been Captain Hook, who had simply been trying to frighten and unnerve her. She supposed poor Keith, beaten to within an inch of his life for kissing Lacey, might have had a different opinion on whether the Dark One was capable of jealousy, but Belle suspected he had been outraged on Belle’s behalf and heartbroken that Belle was apparently lost to him, not truly jealous that Lacey preferred another. Lacey had liked Gold’s violent outbursts and encouraged them as often as possible, but left to his own devices Belle doubted he’d have cared much whether Dr. Whale or anyone else looked at her. Gaston, the only other person with whom she’d had any sort of relationship, had not liked her enough to be jealous. Her going off with the Dark One would have been a blow to his pride, but nothing more. Belle wondered if he’d waited even a month before finding a new fiancee.

The door opened and Belle’s head snapped up. It was nearing noon and Hamish hadn’t been in yet, which was unusual. He’d kept his distance a bit over the last few days, though his visits had resumed, and Belle understood, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. She was more certain than ever that she was falling in love with him, and she was not exactly a patient person. She wanted to take the next step, whatever it was, and confirm that he felt for her the same way she did for him.

A cough drew her attention to Walsh’s corner, and when she looked over she saw he was watching her with a smirk on his face. Belle resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him and smiled pleasantly at the elderly woman who always liked to look at the knitting magazines. Really, she thought a little peevishly, Hamish should have been here hours ago if he wanted to talk to her. The afternoon rush would start any moment, and…

“Mornin’, Belle.”

Her heart fluttered and she looked up.

“Well,” he shrugged, glancing at the windows. “I s’pose it’s nearer afternoon now.”

“I thought you were standing me up,” Belle said. Hamish’s eyebrows rose.

“Oh, ah, no, there was a spot of trouble out at the Stuarts’. Taken care of now.” He held out his book and waited for her to take it. When her fingers brushed his, they twitched slightly and then fell to the surface of the desk. “Day off tomorrow, eh? Any, ah…any plans?”

“None so far. You?”

“Well, I don’t really get days off, but…” He shrugged and scratched the back of his neck. “If all’s well I’ll probably do a spot of fishin.’ Havenae been in a while.”

Belle hummed and scanned the book into the system, gathering her courage. “I’ve never been fishing.”

When he didn’t respond immediately, she looked up; he was staring at her as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly. “I, ah,” he said when she raised her eyebrows., “find that hard tae believe. You’ve done everything, you have.”

“ _Almost_ everything.”

“Well, ah…if ye like, you can join me tomorrow. I’ll teach you.”

“You’re sure you wouldn’t mind?”

He laughed, short and sharp and disbelieving. “No, I don’t mind.”

“What time should I meet you?”

“Well, moonlight’s best for sea trout, but there’s no moon tonight and night fishin’ isnae exactly for beginners. We’ll make do wi’ sunset.”

“Okay. It’s a date,” Belle said sunnily, smiling deliberately.

The tips of his ears went pink. “Uh…aye. See ya.”

* * *

Belle shifted from foot to foot, trying not to feel as nervous as she did, her heart pounding in her ears as she watched him walk toward her, rods and tackle in hand. He flashed her a grin as he set the tackle box on the ground and handed her a long, flexible rod. “Got you all rigged up,” he said.

Belle fingered the rubber lure and frowned. “I looked up how to fish for trout. I thought you used little feathery flies.”

“Aye, usually, but fly fishing isnae for first-timers. There’s a rhythm to it, and ye’ve got tae practice a fair bit.” He glanced at her and his face reddened. “We can work on that some other time, if ye like.”

“Sure.”

Hamish took the rod from her and held it out in front of him. “Right, so…you grip with your right hand, your left’s on the reel. A tug on your line means a fish has taken the bait.” He showed her the hooks embedded in the lure. “Ye’ve got tae set the hook or the fish’ll spit it out. Tae do that, jerk the rod up fast and hard, then reel ‘er in.”

He moved to stand beside her and cast the line out into the harbor with an easy flick of his wrists, then began to reel it back in.

“I thought you were supposed to wait for the fish to bite.”

“Not trout. They go after prey that moves - tha’s why flies are good for them. So reel in, not too fast, and,” he moved the rod gently a few times, “make it dance a bit. Fish don’ swim in straight lines, and you want the trout to think it’s real.”

There was a sudden jerk on the end of the line and Hamish grinned. He yanked up on the rod and began to reel, allowing the trout to take the line a bit before pulling it in again. Light from the setting sun glinted off the water and scattered over his animated face and wind-ruffled hair and Belle’s breath hitched.

With a splash the trout surfaced, thrashing in the shallows as Hamish snagged the line with one hand. Holding the fish aloft, he grinned at Belle. “See? Nothin’ to it.”

Belle studied the spotted trout. “Are you going to keep it?”

“Nah, he’s too small. We’ll send ‘im back, let ‘im grow a bit more.” Expertly he gripped the fish, slipped the hook from its mouth, and tossed it back into the water. He grimaced and reached for a towel, wiping his hands. “Not the best smell, that.”

Belle shrugged. She’d smelled worse.

“Right. Now for casting.” He moved closer and flexed his hands on the rod’s grip. “Not too tight, not too loose. Nice firm handshake. Flip this here, but hold the line against the rod. Pull back to about two o’clock, then fling it forward nice and fast. Flip the bail arm pretty quick, don’t want the line to go too deep.”

He demonstrated again, then handed Belle the rod. Belle bit her lip and tried to match his every movement, but her lure kept landing only a few feet from her shoes.

“Ye’re letting go too soon,” Hamish said after her fourth failed attempt. “Here.”

Stepping up behind her, he put his hands over hers. Belle swallowed and tried to focus on his words instead of the warmth of his hands, the pressure of his chest against her back, or the flutter of his breath by her ear. He pulled her hands back, then pushed them forward. “Two o’clock, ten o’clock,” he breathed. Back. “Two o’clock.” Forward. “Ten o’clock.” He released her and stepped back beside her. “Gie that a try.”

Belle’s fingers trembled just a little as she tried again. This time her lure actually landed a decent distance away, and she grinned at Hamish, who smiled back and picked up the other rod.

There was silence between them for a long time, nothing but the swish of line, whir of reel, plop of lures. The sun was halfway below the horizon, bathing them and the beach and the town in red-gold light. Belle kept sneaking looks at Hamish, who had waded a little ways out into the water; every now and then she caught him looking quickly away from her, the tips of his ears reddening. Once their eyes caught and held, and then a sudden shadow flitted across his face and he glanced down.

That had happened a lot over the last few days. She would look at him, meet his eye, share a smile, and then his expression would shift to something sad and dark. Whatever had changed, she didn’t like it; they’d been making _progress_ , damn it.

A sharp jerk on her line drew her eyes back to her rod and she gasped, pulling up on the line like he’d shown her. The line squealed as she cranked the reel and in a flash Hamish was beside her, holding the rod steady so it wasn’t yanked from her hands.

“Feels like a big one,” he said when the line screeched again. “Go on, bring ‘er in.”

“I can’t!” Belle gasped with the effort of turning the reel. Hamish moved behind her again, his hand closing over hers. Suddenly the fish on the end of the line gave an almighty tug and the line snapped. Belle stumbled back and Hamish’s arm shot around her waist, steadying her against his chest.

“It got away,” Belle said breathlessly.

“Aye. They often do.”

His voice at her ear made her shiver, and his arms tightened around her. “A’right?”

“Yeah,” she whispered.

His fingers flexed against her before he let his arm drop, but she didn’t move away. His left hand still covered hers on the reel, and she could feel him pressed against her back. Her eyes widened and she bit back a gasp when she realized certain… _parts_ …of him had taken an interest in their position.

That was something she hadn’t felt in awhile.

Hamish coughed and stepped back. Belle reeled in her line and kept her gaze averted as he went to retrieve his own rod, but she smiled in spite of herself. At least she had some proof now that he was attracted to her.

* * *

They caught nothing more, but Hamish had never been more satisfied with an unproductive fishing trip. Belle had offered to help him carry everything back to the station, and now they were walking side-by-side in the deepening twilight, silence enveloping them like a warm blanket. She followed him through the door and placed the tackle box and net on the floor, then looked around.

“I’ve been here a few months, and I’ve never been inside the station,” she mused.

“Well, I can give you the grand tour if ye like.” At her smile he gestured around them. “Ah, this here’s the kitchen,” he pointed, “living room and office through there, bedroom out there, holding cell across the hall. That’s it.”

“Cozy.”

Hamish chuckled. “It’s cramped as hell is what it is, but it’s all we’ve got.”

She hummed and walked past him into the office; Hamish followed her, suddenly inexplicably nervous. He watched as she ran a finger over the ancient fax machine. “This office is like a time capsule.”

Scratching the back of his neck, Hamish felt himself flush. “I’m, ah, not really good with new technology. And John…well, he’s even worse.”

Her lips twitched. “I understand. I still use a flip phone, myself.”

Silence descended between them again, this time with an undercurrent of tension that Hamish could only attribute to their being alone in his house for the first time. Belle looked as if she was making up her mind about something.

“I…”

“Cup o’ tea?” he blurted, and she looked surprised. He felt his face flush. “I mean, uh…would ye like a cup of tea?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

He hurried into the kitchen to set the kettle on, and when he returned she’d sat down on the couch, legs crossed and eyes very steady on him. Briefly he considered sitting in the armchair, but that was stupid because they’d sat beside each other before and she might ask questions if he suddenly put that much distance between them. Swallowing his nerves he sat beside her - not too close, but not too far - and tried desperately to think of something to say.

“Heard from Neal lately?”

“No, actually. It’s been a couple of weeks, which is weird. He usually emails at least once a week.” She shrugged. “He’s probably just busy, and he told me that since he’d visited he was less worried about me.”

He nodded, trying not to think about the fact that now she’d uncrossed her legs she seemed a lot closer than she’d been before.

“Hey. Are you okay?”

When he turned his head to look at her, he realized that she had turned to face him, her knee just inches from his thigh. Her eyes were wide and serious, and he smiled. “Yeah, fine.”

“You seem a little on edge. Have I done something wrong?”

“No, you’re - no.”

She pursed her lips, looked away for a moment, and then looked back at him. “I had fun. Maybe we could - we could do it again sometime.”

“If ye like.”

She huffed and smiled. “You’re really not making this easy on me, y’know.”

He blinked. “What?”

Her teeth sank into her lower lip again as she studied him, and then she braced one hand on the back of the couch, pushed herself toward him, and pressed her lips to his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!!!!!!


	14. The Cruel Coulter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time, Belle finally made a move. Her plans are moving forward, but unfortunately, she's not the only one with plans.

Belle’s lips were soft and sweet and Hamish scarcely had time to register any feeling but surprise before she pulled away slightly. Her eyes were wide and dark and searching, and he felt suddenly lighter.

She bit her lip and took a breath. “Are you…”

“Yeah.” He leaned forward and captured her lips with his, shifting and gripping her waist with both hands when she gasped. Her hands swept over his shoulders, one anchoring at the base of his neck and the other wandering up into his hair, scratching at the back of his head. A thrill ran down his spine and he pushed her back gently to lay on the cushions, relinquishing her mouth just long enough to find a better angle. Belle sighed against his mouth and shifted so that she was fully beneath him, the hand at his neck sliding down to the middle of his back to pull him close. When he started to feel dizzy he pulled back a little and propped himself up on one elbow to look down at her flushed face.

A lock of hair had fallen over her brow and he brushed it aside, watching as her eyelids fluttered. “Had summat on yer mind, eh?” he asked.

She laughed and tilted her head into his touch. “You could say that.”

The hand on his back began traveling south, and Hamish raised his eyebrows. “Are you...I mean...really?”

“I must be getting better at subtlety,” she said, “if you’re still confused.”

“Well, I...I mean I’m not confused, exactly, just…”

She pressed gently on the back of his head to coax him into another kiss and he sighed, relaxing into her embrace. Her kisses were gentler this time, sipping as if she were trying to draw the moment out. Her hand was roaming up and down his back and, encouraged, Hamish let one hand slide up from her waist to just below her breast, his thumb brushing against her. Her nails scratched at his scalp again and he grew bolder, stroking more firmly. When she whimpered and arched into his touch, he cupped her fully and moved his lips to her throat, seeking out every spot that made her gasp and squirm.

A sharp bark startled him and Hamish shot upright, looking around wildly. Belle was breathing heavily, her eyes wide, and she laughed when she caught sight of Wee Jock standing by the sofa.

“Bloody dog,” Hamish muttered.

“He’s probably hungry,” Belle said.

Jock barked again, and Hamish rubbed his hands over his face.

“The sooner you feed him, the sooner he’ll leave us alone,” Belle pointed out, and Hamish grinned at her.

“I can’t,” Hamish groaned over the dog’s whine. “He’ll only take food from John.”

“Oh.” Her face fell and Hamish was tempted to take the dog, tie him outside John’s caravan, and pick up right where he and Belle had left off, but he knew Belle. She’d never stand for it, and he’d feel more than a mite guilty himself. He sighed and slumped against the back of the couch, staring balefully at the ceiling as Jock’s whines increased.

“Hey. It’s okay.”

Belle reached up and brushed Hamish’s cheek with her fingers and he smiled apologetically. “If you come over again, I’ll make damn sure the dog eats first. Hell, I’ll feed you too. I’m not a terrible cook, really.”

She stroked his hair and leaned in for a gentle kiss. “You don’t have to bribe me to come back, Hamish. All you have to do is ask.”

“Tomorrow? Dinner?”

Belle smiled. “Definitely.”

When Belle had given him a final kiss and slipped through the door, Hamish stood watching her walk away for a moment. Wee Jock barked again, sharp and urgent, and Hamish glared at him. “You’re lucky ye’re a wee dog and not a man,” he grumbled. He pulled out his phone and dialed John.

* * *

“Good morning, Miss French.”

“Mr. Walsh.”

Mr. Walsh had now been in Lochdubh a little over a week, and Belle was getting antsy. Surely the local folk tales were not so extensive that he would need to be in Lochdubh for so long. Her suspicion that he was not what he appeared was growing, and she tried not to stare at him too often or appear too interested in his work. Today, at least, she had the distraction of thinking about dinner at Hamish’s that night, and was daydreaming about what she hoped would happen after dinner when her office phone rang. Few people rang that line, and she hurried to answer.

“Lochdubh Public Library.”

“Belle! Don’t say my name.”

Belle frowned. “Why?” She thought she heard the door open, but when she glanced up there was no one there.

“We don’t know who might be listening to you,” Emma said. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for days. Someone’s making it _really_ difficult. I’m on a disposable cell and I couldn’t get your cell at all.”

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Cold dread settled in her stomach.

“Neal is...he’s...he’s missing.” Emma’s voice cracked and Belle’s knees trembled. “It’s a long story and nobody really understands, but...they’re back. Everyone.”

“ _Everyone_?”

“And they don’t know who, or how, or why.”

Belle took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. “They’ve been gone for years. Was it…”

“The curse? Looks like it but with a twist. They all remember who they are, they just don’t remember the last two years.”

“How did you find out?”

“Remember Hook?”

Did she remember the man who had attacked her more than once and cost her her memories? Belle sneered into the phone. “Yeah, that rings a bell.”

“He found us and brought us back.”

“Wait...people can leave and come back?”

“No, and he doesn’t even know how he did it...he said he closed his eyes one night in the Enchanted Forest, and when he opened them he was on his ship just outside New York.”

“But I thought once you left, you couldn’t come back?”

“We’re still trying to figure this out, but we think maybe the town line lets you in if you’ve been here before.

“What does...the mayor have to say about that?”

“I wish I could ask her.” Emma’s voice broke again. “She’s missing too.”

“Don’t you think…”

“I don’t...I don’t think so. The only reason for her to come back here would be for Henry, and it doesn’t make sense for her to do something like that and then not see him.”

“Should I…”

“Look, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that both Neal and Regina are missing. They had one very important person in common, after all.”

_Rumple_.

“You don’t believe…”

“No. I don’t. But whoever this is might be targeting people close to him, and we all know that you were as close as two people can get.” She paused. “I have to ask. Is there anyone new in your life? Someone who showed up in the last week or so? Someone who doesn’t belong, gives you a weird feeling? Because I’ve been trying to get in touch with you and I’m pretty good at finding people. The only way I would have that much trouble is if someone was sabotaging me.”

Belle swallowed and clenched the phone more tightly. Nervously she glanced out the office door at where Mr. Walsh still sat, his long fingers paging through books and occasionally stopping to mark a passage.

“Yes. There is someone. He got here over a week ago.”

“Can you get away?”

Belle froze. Get away? But Hamish...and Lochdubh...and Esme…

“I…”

“Belle. I know you have people you care about there. But this person could be dangerous. They could hurt you. You need to get out of there if you can.”

“Thanks,” Belle whispered. “I’ll...I’ll be in touch.”

“Belle…”

Belle hung up and wrapped her arms around her waist, a sick cold feeling rushing through her.

“Troubling call?”

She gasped and jumped. Walsh was standing in the doorway, his warm brown eyes assessing her with concern.

“Yeah, um...a family friend is in some trouble.” She gripped her elbows in an attempt to keep herself from trembling. “I might...need to close early.”

“A shame.” He watched her a moment more. “You don’t look well. Would you like some company?”

“No,” she said quickly. “No, thank you, I’m fine. If you wouldn’t mind, just...leave the books and I’ll lock up. I’m sorry, I…”

“It’s quite alright,” he assured her, and Belle felt her skin crawl. He stepped back and extended one arm, inviting her to step past him, and she straightened to her full height and stepped past him. He followed her out of the door, watching as she locked the door. They walked toward her house; he’d apparently decided to see her home, and she wished she knew how to make him leave.

When they’d been walking for a few minutes, she turned and smiled at him.

“Thank you for understanding,” she said. “I know how dedicated you are to your research.”

“Oh, I believe my research is almost complete,” he said. “You’ve been very patient with me, Lady Belle.”

Belle felt her heart stop in her chest. “John’s the only one who calls me that,” she said, forcing her voice to be light. “It’s a little inside joke we have.”

“No,” Walsh said quietly. “No, that is your true name, isn’t it? Lady Belle of the Marchlands.”

Her breath freezing in her chest, Belle stopped, but Walsh took her arm in a firm grip and propelled her along. “Walk, Lady Belle. Everything is just fine.”

“Who are you really?” she asked when her voice returned to her..

“An envoy. I was sent to keep an eye on you, to learn about you.”

“An envoy from whom? Why me?”

Walsh smiled. “My employer has great plans, and she hoped you might be of some assistance. It would require going back to Storybrooke, and I’m meant to bring you.”

“What plans?”

“Magic such as no world has ever seen.” They’d reached her house, and Walsh stood before her as she inched toward the door. “You could have him back.”

Her heart leapt into her throat, but Belle shoved it back down. Rumple had always told her that no magic could bring back the dead, and no matter who this sorcerer was, she knew she could not tamper with the laws of magic itself. They were false promises, meant to lure her to Storybrooke for who knew what terrible purpose.

She squared her shoulders and met his eyes, hoping that her scorn and disdain spoke for themselves. “Why are you trying to convince me?” she asked scornfully. “Why not just haul me off?”

“Ah. I’m afraid the enchantments around the town will not allow someone to cross unwillingly. A person must enter willingly, with full knowledge and acceptance of what they will find there.”

“Are you saying people have to believe in magic to enter Storybrooke?”

“Belief is key, as is consent. We were hoping you would want to go back, to see your friends and companions.”

“And if I won’t go with you?” she asked.

“Well, you know now that I cannot force you. However, you will find, Lady Belle, that I can be very...persuasive.” He ran one finger down her cheek, smiled, and then turned away.

Belle took a deep breath, ducked into the house, and slammed the door. She stood in the living room and pressed her hands to her lips. He had reminded her horribly of Hook. Men like him never gave up, and he would not threaten her to get her to Storybrooke. He would go after Hamish, and Esme, and John, and anyone he thought meant anything to her. He’d been watching her, and he knew where to strike. Belle shook her head and headed for her bedroom.

She had no choice, but she would not give him the satisfaction of abducting her. She would go on her own terms, under her own power, and, if she could manage it, without his knowledge.

* * *

TV John McIver stole a glance at the front of the library and frowned. There was something odd about the young man seated there; he’d felt it since even before Macbeth had asked him to keep an eye out. He had an aura about him, similar to the Lady Belle’s, but his was sharper, clearer, newer as it were; he must be a recent arrival from whatever realm he called home.

_That_ had been a wonderful thing to learn. John had always believed in the existence of other worlds - the supernatural could scarcely be explained any other way - but to have it all confirmed by the resident of one of those worlds, a woman whose life had been touched by magic and darkness such as he’d only dreamed existed, was not something he’d ever expected. He was fairly certain, however, that Mr. Walsh was not of the same realm as Lady Belle. Belle’s aura was soft from years of living in this world, but it was also warm and sweet and a faint pink, like a new rosebud. Mr. Walsh’s, besides being harsh and recent, was spiky and green, pulsing with malevolent energy. Whatever his previous realm, it had clearly not been a pleasant one.

Walsh looked up from his work then, glanced around the library, and then directly up into TV John’s eyes. Images assailed him - green smoke, a terrible laugh, Hamish’s face twisted in pain, Belle motionless - and then the vision was gone and John was shaking in his seat. Walsh had vanished from his chair and the library was dark, the only light streaming out from under Belle’s office door. He stood and made his way to the door, but stopped, his hand outstretched. The light was on, but there was no one there. Belle was gone.

* * *

Hamish crossed his arms and leaned against the front door, attempting not to read too much into the fact that Belle was half an hour late. Dinner was cooling on the table, John had fed Jock before he left, and Hamish had paced the hall between the kitchen and the living room until he grew dizzy. He pulled out his phone and contemplated it, wondering if it would be too...something of him to call and ask her if she was alright.

As if it could hear his thoughts, the phone rang, and Hamish answered before glancing at the number. “Belle? Everything alright?”

“Hamish.” TV John’s voice sounded strained. “I’ve been locked in the library, and Belle isnae here. I’ve had...a warning. I fear she may be in danger.”

Hamish snapped his phone shut and ran out the door, Jock barking after him. He leapt into the rover and drove as if the devil himself were after him, his thoughts centered on Belle and what might be wrong. When he pulled up outside of Belle’s house, he saw a light on and breathed a sigh of relief, but the light was extinguished at that moment. Frowning, Hamish got out of the rover and approached the door. He raised his hand to knock, but the door flew open and Belle stood there, her face hard and set.

“Hamish!” she said.

He swallowed and lowered his hand. “Belle.” His eyes flickered over her, taking in her warm, sensible clothes, hiking boots, and backpack. His jaw clenched as his heart pounded painfully in his chest. “Going somewhere, are ye?”

Belle stepped forward and took his hand. “I can explain,” she said earnestly. “Well, actually,” she said after a moment. “Maybe I can’t. There’s so much…”

Shaking off her hand, Hamish stepped back. “No, there’s nothin’ tae...I knew, y’know. I told ye, women like you - they dinnae stay.”

“That’s not fair,” she said. “I don’t want to leave.”

“I thought you decided your own fate,” he said bitterly. “What changed, eh? Realized last night you could do better than a backwoods constable? Took ye long enough.”

Her face flushed and she grabbed his hand again, pulling him toward the door. “Come inside, I can’t talk about this out here.”

Hamish resisted for a moment, but one look at her face told him he would have a terrible row on his hands if he didn’t do as she asked, so he stepped just inside the door and leaned against it when it was closed. “Well, go on,” he said. “I haven’t got all night.”

“Neal’s in trouble” Belle said abruptly, squeezing her hands in front of her.

Hamish stood up straight. “What?”

“He’s missing. Emma contacted me yesterday and…”

“Well, why the hell didnae you...I’ll drive you tae th’ airport myself, come on!” He reached for the doorknob, but Belle stopped him.

“No, I...I have to go alone.”

“Don’t be daft. It’s a days-long journey, that. What were you gonna do, hitch-hike to Inverness?”

“Hamish…”

“Why didnae you come tae me? I’d...look, I can go with you.”

“I can’t ask you to...you don’t even know…”

Hamish ran a hand through his hair. “What? What is it I don’t know? What horrible secret do you think is gonna stop me from tryin’ tae help you?”

She stared at him, her face a picture of fear and indecision and longing. He stepped forward and took her hands. “I know we said you’d tell me when you were ready. But it looks like you’re out o’ time, darlin’. Just tell me.” He raised her hand to his lips. “Tell me, Belle.”

“I’m not from here,” she whispered at last, and he frowned.

“I know that.”

“No, I mean...I’m not _from here_. I’m from...well, it has many names. Misthaven, for one. The Enchanted Forest, for another. Some here call it Fairy Tale Land, but I’ve never liked that name much. My town was called Avonlea, in a seaside district known as the Marchlands. And my name isn’t Belle French, surnames aren’t really...I was called Lady Belle.”

“What...what are you talking about?” Hamish dropped her hand and stepped back, colliding with the door.

“I’m not from this world,” she said sadly. “I’m not who you think I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise next chapter is smoother with fewer cuts.


	15. Open the Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle reveals more of her past to Hamish, who is determined to help her however he can.

Hamish was silent for a full minute, and Belle could sense that it was taking every ounce of his self-control to remain calm. He took a deep breath and drew himself up to his full height, his face blank.

“So...who are you?” he asked.

Belle winced at his firm, impersonal tone, but she tried to answer calmly. “I’m Lady Belle of Avonlea, in the Marchlands. My father is Sir Maurice, a minor noble who rose to importance during the third Ogre Wars - mostly because the higher nobles were dead.”

Hamish crossed his arms, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

“I came here when the Evil Queen cast a curse to take all of our people to a land without magic.”

“And, uh, Neal...I don’t suppose he’s from...what do you call it? Misthaven?”

“He is...from the Frontlands. His name was Baelfire, and his father was Rumplestiltskin.” She took a deep breath. “Rumple was...a sorcerer. The most powerful in the realms. He saved Avonlea from the ogres in exchange for my services as a caretaker. While I worked for him, I fell in love with him, but...we were separated.”

“By this Evil Queen?”

“Yes.” Belle sighed when his expression tightened further. “Hamish, I know this sounds ridiculous…”

“Ridiculous?” He gave a humorless laugh. “Lachlan thinking you were a fairy was ridiculous. This? This is...” He waved a hand helplessly.

“You wanted to know.”

“Right, so why did you come here, then,  _ Lady  _ Belle? Sounds like a grand life, sorcerers and magic and royalty. Why leave it all behind?”

She glared at him. “I told you I was brought here - I didn’t  _ choose _ it, and if I had, I certainly wouldn’t have asked to be locked in a cell for twenty-eight years!” Belle took a deep breath and tried to decide what was most important for him to hear.

“Twenty-eight...but you’re not…”

“I told you I was older than I looked.”

Hamish shook his head.

“Look, you don’t have to believe me,” Belle said, glancing nervously at the door. “But I do have to leave. I have to go back to Storybrooke.”

“Right.” He stepped aside, but as she walked past him, he asked, “Why exactly do you  _ have  _ to go?”

“Because if I don’t,” she said calmly, “more people will disappear. Perhaps they’ll die. People I care about.”

Frowning, Hamish stepped forward and took her arm. “What?”

“Regina - the Evil Queen - is missing, too. Rumple was her teacher. Emma thinks that whoever is doing this, is targeting people with connections to Rumple.”

“But you...if this is true, and you go, won’t you be in danger? Won’t they be after you?”

“They are after me. I’ll be in danger, but at least you’ll be safe.”

He dropped her arm and stared at her. “What does that mean?”

“It means that they’ve already found me. They’ve given me a choice. I have to go, or you and the others will pay the price.”

“You...you’re leaving because you’re being blackmailed?”

“I’m leaving because I want to help find Neal. I want to make sure he’s safe. I owe Rumple that much, at least.”

He studied her face. Whatever he saw there must have struck a chord with him, because he folded his arms again and nodded firmly. “Alright, then. I’m going with you.”

* * *

Hamish did not for one second believe that Belle was a princess from a magical kingdom who’d come to his world via evil curse. He didn’t believe she was a day older than thirty, and he certainly didn’t believe that her dead lover had been a great sorcerer. However, when he looked into her eyes and saw that she was frightened and sad and desperate, he believed that she needed help. Perhaps this magical threat was a code he didn’t know for organized crime or something of the sort, and she was trying to give him plausible deniability. Whatever the reason she’d suddenly started talking in riddles, he knew she needed him.

“You can’t,” Belle said, her voice cracking.

“I’ve been known to leave Lochdubh,” he said dryly. “More than once, as a matter of fact.”

“No, I mean you can’t go to Storybrooke. It’s protected.”

“How’s that?”

She shifted on her feet. “Only people who believe in magic can enter. And you don’t believe.”

“Well, not yet, but we’ve got time. You’ve got about twelve hours to convince me, don’t you?”

“It doesn’t work like that!” Belle threw her hands in the air. “I’ve known about magic my whole life, I don’t have the first clue how to - how to  _ convince _ someone to believe in it. It’s like explaining electricity to someone who’s never had it!”

“You’ll just have to do your best.” He moved to the door, then turned. “Come on, we’re going to the station. I’ve got to go get a few things first.”

“Hamish, you can’t…”

“For someone who hates tae be told what tae dae, ye can be awfully pushy,” Hamish snapped, rounding on her at last. “I’ve watched too mony people walk away from this place - away from  _ me _ . It’s no’ happening agin. I cannae watch you walk away, Belle.” He sighed, his anger dying as quickly as it had flared. “I just...I just  _ can’t _ .”

When she didn’t answer, he looked up to see that tears were flowing down her cheeks.

“Let’s go,” he said huskily. He turned and shoved his way out of the door, leaping into the rover and waiting for her to join him, and then tearing towards the station. As he passed the library, he spared a thought for John, but shook his head. John would have picked some lock or other and maneuvered his way out of the building by now, and sure enough a light was on in the kitchen when he arrived at the station. John sat at the table smoking when Hamish darted in and began tossing things into a pack.

“Is Miss Belle alright?” John asked.

Hamish met his eyes and shook his head, then began hunting for his passport - something Alex had insisted he keep up-to-date, and he’d continued to do so out of habit despite never leaving the country.

John leaned against the bedroom door. “Ah. She’s told ye, then.”

“Told me?” Hamish zipped the pack and headed back into the kitchen.

“About Avonlea, of course. Fascinating tale.”

“Oh, aye, fascinatin’,” Hamish grumbled. “Like a bloody fairy tale.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“I have tae go to Maine for a while,” Hamish said. “Call Inverness and have them send a replacement. If Bruce makes a fuss, remind him that I haven’t had a vacation in three years. Tell him there's a confiscated trout in it for him if he takes care of the paperwork himself.”

“Keep your eyes clear and your mind open, Hamish,” John said solemnly. “My sight tells me you’re about tae have a difficult time - best not to quibble over silly things like fantasy and reality.”

Sighing, Hamish grabbed his pack and made his way back out to the rover. Whatever trouble Belle had landed herself in, he was going to get her out of it, and they could go back to flirting over books and snogging on his couch. 

They were soon on their way to Inverness. She was silent all the way, and Hamish refused to break the silence. She’d been prepared to leave Lochdubh without even a goodbye, and while he knew she was frightened, it hurt to know that she had not felt she could come to him. Anxiety bubbled up inside him as he contemplated what he was about to do, but he’d been honest with Belle - he was bloody sick and tired of watching the women he loved leave him behind. They purchased tickets - Hamish couldn’t quite believe that Belle had  _ that _ much ready money - and headed for the gate to await boarding, and still she hadn’t said more to him than was strictly necessary. Finally, when he couldn’t stand the silence any longer, Hamish said,

“It was Walsh, wasn’t it?”

He’d been thinking about it, and there was no other explanation. Walsh was the only new person in town, so he must be the goon sent to sniff out Belle’s whereabouts and threaten her.

“Yes.”

“What do they want from you?”

“Honestly, I have no idea,” Belle sighed. “Walsh said his employer was a sorcerer who wanted to work magic no one had ever managed before, but I can’t think what that has to do with me. I’m not magical in the slightest.”

Bloody magic again. He tried not to sound annoyed when he asked, “He didn’t give you any clues?”

She was silent for a moment, staring at her hands in her lap. “He said she could bring him back. Rumple.”

“Back? Back from the dead?”

“I don’t know how it’s possible. It shouldn’t be, Rumple always said that dead was dead, but...there’s more than one way of...it’s just an idea, and I can’t know more until I get there.”

“What’s your idea?”

“Well…” she paused and looked conflicted. “The only way I can think of to bring someone back from the dead is ensuring that they never died in the first place.”

“How…”

“Like I said, it’s an idea, and I need to get back to Rumple’s books to...It’s never been done before, not in any realm I’ve ever heard of.”

He let the subject drop since she didn’t seem to want to explain, and during the hour they had to wait until their flight was boarded, he watched as she scribbled in a notebook. She didn’t seem particularly worried or frightened anymore, and he hoped that now she’d calmed down a bit, she’d be able to tell him what was really going on.

They were in the air two hours before he felt ready to ask her again.

“What’s really going on, Belle?”

She gave him a look that was both sad and frustrated. “I’ve told you what’s really going on.”

“Look, while Walsh was around I know you couldnae speak freely, but he’s not here, darlin’. Just...tell me the truth.”

“I have.”

He sighed and tilted his head back against the headrest. “You don’t trust me, eh?”

“If I didn’t trust you, I wouldn’t be here with you,” she said. “I’m not exactly a stranger to running away. I’ve told you the truth.”

“Right. Well, if magic is real, why haven’t I ever seen proof of it?”

She frowned. “What do you call John’s visions?”

“That’s not - that’s not magic.”

“Isn’t it?” Belle looked away from him and stared out of the plane window. “Rumple was a Seer, too. He said it was a tricky business because the future is always changing, and it was hard to tell the difference between what would be and what could be.”

He couldn’t really think of anything to say to that.

“John mentioned that ghosts have been seen around Lochdubh,” she said.

Hamish swallowed, feeling oddly shaky. “Aye, that’s - that’s true enough.”

“You see, I’ve never encountered ghosts, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t real. If you’ve seen things you can’t explain and you still can’t believe - how can you expect me to convince you of anything?”

The air in the cabin was very thin, and Hamish’s breathing felt shallow.

“This realm is known as the Land Without Magic, but I’ve come to think it’s not as simple as that,” Belle said, shifting in her seat so that she could turn and look at him. “In every part of the world we hear of gods and wizards and fairies, and all sorts of magical creatures. There are so many stories about magic in this realm that I can’t believe it’s always been without magic. I think it’s much more likely that magic used to be here but it was taken away. How, or why, or by whom I don’t know, and maybe I never will. It’s not important anyway, at least not right now. What matters is Neal.”

“You really believe all of this,” Hamish said weakly.

“It’s not a matter of believing for me. It’s my life, my reality. You have the luxury of accepting or rejecting it, but I don’t.  If you want to help me, you have to believe.” She shrugged. “I can’t make you do that.”

“I... _ want _ tae believe you,” he said. “D’ye think that’ll be enough?”

Belle smiled sadly. “I guess we’ll find out.” She pulled out her pillow and blanket and nestled down in her seat. “I’m going to try to sleep. You should too.”

Hamish watched in fascinated disbelief as she suited action to words, slowly drifting off until she was snoring every so slightly. She’d left the window shade beside her open, and he stared out into the black sky, his thoughts whirling and his heart pounding.

* * *

Belle drove, winding through the familiar forests of Maine with practiced ease. Beside her, Hamish was pale and nervous, his eyes darting around the scenery and his jaw ticking. He’d asked her no further questions, but she could practically hear the gears turning in his head. Soon, they’d discover if his wanting to believe would matter, or if he would have come out here for nothing.

A boulder appeared on the right side of the road, then a well-known wooden sign, and Belle sucked in a breath. A bold red line ran from one side of the road to another, and Belle stopped a few hundred feet away.

“What is it?” Hamish asked, his voice husky from lack of sleep and the silence he’d held since the plane.

“We’re here,” Belle said.

Hamish squinted through the windshield, but there was no sign of recognition or understanding on his face. Belle felt her heart drop.

He couldn’t see the town line. His desire to believe was not enough.

“I suppose I’ll leave the car for you, then,” she said with a sigh. “There’s an inn a few miles back that way - I’ll be in touch.”

“There’s nothing there, Belle!” Hamish said desperately.

“Nothing you can see.”

“Darlin’, listen to me.” Hamish took her hands and pressed them. “I know you want this to be real, but…”

“I don’t have time for this.” She pulled her hands away. “I have to go.”

She left the key in the ignition and pushed open the door, grabbing her pack from the backseat.

“Belle, wait!” Hamish jumped out of the car and followed her.

At the town line, she stopped and turned to him. “I’ll call you later and let you know what’s going on,” she said gently. “It’s really okay.” She kissed him on the cheek and squeezed his hand, and then stepped backwards over the town line.

* * *

One moment she was there, and the next she was gone. Hamish stood rooted to the spot for a few seconds and then spun around, his breath harsh in his lungs.

“Belle? Belle!”

She hadn’t had time to run into the woods. She’d simply vanished.

“ _ Belle! _ ” Hamish darted forward, running faster than he’d ever run in his life, but there was nothing before him but a long black stretch of road. When he could run no farther, he stopped in the middle of the street and hunched over, hands on his knees, gasping for breath. After a few moments he straightened, running his hands over his hair. He turned to start back for the car and froze again. The car was only a few hundred yards away, as if he hadn't moved at all.  


“How the hell…” he breathed, turning in a slow circle.

John’s words bounced around in his brain.  _ Keep your eyes clear and your mind open _ . Hamish darted for the car, snatched up his pack, and returned to the spot where Belle had disappeared.  _ Eyes clear, mind open. Eyes clear, mind open. _

He thought of John’s sight and the many times it had led him right. He thought of the poor lady from the radio who had foreseen Alex’s death. He thought of Rose and her westie. If he could accept those things, why not magic? He’d always known Belle was different, so why could she not be from another world?

“I believe, a’right?” he shouted at the night sky. “Let me in!”

The road before him remained maddeningly empty.

“Oi! Storybrooke! Let me in!”

Silence and darkness were his reply, and Hamish shouted wordlessly in rage, flinging his pack to the ground.

“Let me in, dammit! I want tae come in! I want tae help, I want tae…”

The breath left his lungs so quickly he nearly collapsed. Appearing before him as if - well, as if by magic, he supposed - was a broad red paint line. To his right was a large, rustic wooden sign. 

_ Welcome to Storybrooke. _


	16. A Small Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamish gets his first taste of Storybrooke.

“Belle? Belle!  _ Belle! _ ”

Walking away from the town line with Hamish’s shouts ringing in her ears was the most difficult thing she had ever had to do. Tears coursed down her face as she heard him run, heard him shout, heard him roar with rage. There was nothing to do but keep walking forward, she knew, for she could not make him believe, and without belief he could never enter Storybrooke. Fighting the urge to look back, Belle clutched her pack with trembling fingers. She hoped that he would go to the hotel, that he would wait for her and not go immediately back to Scotland where women didn’t disappear into thin air.

“Belle, wait! Wait!”

His voice sounded closer and clearer, and she froze, her heart pounding, and then turned, hardly able to believe her senses. Hamish stood just over the town line, his eyes wide and his face pale. The sound of her breath was loud in her ears and slowly she raised one hand. His fingers visibly trembling, he waved back. Belle dropped her pack and ran, her eyes fixed on his face, until she could throw herself into his arms. He clutched her in return, squeezing her until she could scarcely breathe, and she knew she was holding him just as tightly.

“There, darlin’,” he murmured. “It’s alright, love, I’m here.”

“How?” she gasped. “How?”

“Well...I guess I decided tae trust you,” he whispered back. “And believe you.”

She nearly laughed with relief as she pulled away. “I thought...I was so afraid you would leave.”

“Never,” he said solemnly, brushing a lock of hair out of her face.

Belle sighed and hugged him again, more gently this time, and then stepped back. “We can take the car now, thank goodness.”

Hamish laughed shakily, “Aye, that we can.”

They collected their packs and turned to walk back to the car. When they were nearly at the line, a gruff voice shouted into the night.

“Halt!” They froze and turned toward the voice. A short, stout figure stomped out from the shadows of the trees and raised its arm. “Who are you?” the voice demanded. There was a click, and a flashlight’s beam shone directly into their faces. “What are you doing out... _ Belle? _ ”

Belle felt Hamish’s arm wrap around her protectively. She squinted into the light, trying to make out the face of their questioner.

“Gods, what are you... _ how _ did you…”

“Who are you?” Belle asked. “I can’t see anything.”

“Oh, right, sorry.” The flashlight dropped from her face and she blinked rapidly, the man’s face coming into focus. She grinned when she saw the thick black beard and dark scowling eyes.

“Dreamy!” She pulled away from Hamish and hugged her friend, warmth rushing through her when he returned the gesture with one arm.

“It’s Grumpy now, remember?” he groused. “That or Leroy. Where the hell have you been, sister?”

“Everywhere, more or less,” she said. “What are you doing out here?”

“Patrolling, obviously. What else would Snow White’s royal guard do?”

“Of course, I’m sorry. Does that mean the others are nearby?”

“I always get stuck with Sleepy,” Leroy grumbled, “and he can never last a full shift, so I just prop him up next to a tree and go it alone. Doc and Sneezy are at the west border of town, Happy and Bashful are up north, and Tiny and Dopey watch over the docks.”

“So you’re all okay. You’re all here?”

“So far.” Leroy looked grim. “Things’ve been…” He looked over her shoulder and noticed Hamish for the first time. “Seven hells,” he whispered. He raised his axe and Hamish took a hasty step back, his hands up. “How did you...you really are a demon, aren’t you?”

“Leroy, no,” Belle said, stepping quickly in front of him. “It’s not him. I know what it looks like, really I do, but it’s not him. Rumple is  _ gone _ .”

“Then who is this guy? I don’t like his face.”

Hamish looked outraged, and Belle almost laughed. “This is Hamish Macbeth.”

Leroy snorted. “Nice name.”

“Same tae you,  _ Grumpy _ ,” Hamish retorted.

“Boys, stop,” Belle said. “Leroy, where is Emma staying? I need to see her.”

“She’s at Snow’s place.” Leroy continued to eye Hamish with mistrust. “I don’t think he should go with you.”

“Hamish is my friend,” Belle said firmly. “He came here with me, and I’m not going to let you bully him.” There was a squawk of protest from beside her, but Belle ignored him. “I’ll vouch for him.”

Leroy glared at Hamish for a few more seconds and then lowered his axe. “Fine,” he grunted. “No funny business though.” He shouldered his axe and nodded at Belle. “It’s great to have ya back, sister. See ya around.” As he sauntered back into the woods, he began to whistle, and Belle smiled when she recognized the tune.

“Is he...is he whistling ‘Heigh-Ho’?” Hamish asked faintly.

“Yep.”

“So that was…”

“Grumpy. Head of Snow White’s guard and unofficial town crier.”

“Right. Okay. Of course.” Hamish looked very pale. “Let’s just...go, eh?”

They had been driving in the dark for a few moments when he spoke up again.

“Tiny?”

“What?”

“I thought there were only seven dwarfs, and I’ve never heard of one named Tiny. Who’s Tiny?”

“He’s a giant. I mean...he  _ was _ a giant. Or...I guess he’s technically still a giant, he’s just not giant-sized anymore. He’s the last of his kind - the dwarfs sort of adopted him as their eighth brother.”

“Ah.”

Belle smiled and let him process that information in silence. As they drove down the main street, Hamish visibly relaxed. Belle supposed that the unassuming New England buildings and quiet dark streets grounded him, and when she parked on a curb near Granny’s Bed and Breakfast he looked almost calm.

“Not so bad, is it?” she teased.

“Reminds me of Lochdubh,” he said.

As they approached the building in which the royals lived and climbed the stairs to Snow White’s loft, Belle stood a little straighter, her head held high and her shoulders squared. She’d always felt a little defensive around Snow White and Prince David; their distaste for Rumplestiltskin had led to more than one uncomfortable encounter, and she highly doubted they would be thrilled to see her returned. She reminded herself that she didn’t care what they thought. She was here to help Emma and Neal.

Her hand trembling just a little, she knocked on the door.

* * *

Hamish  had been trying his level best not to look as out of his depth as he felt. Encountering one of the seven dwarves immediately after being admitted into a secret magical town was a shock that would rattle anyone, he knew, but Belle looked nervous enough without having to worry about his state of mind. She knocked firmly on the door and stood with ramrod-straight posture as she waited, and he had a sudden flash of realization: in that moment, she was every inch a noblewoman. A fairytale princess who had walked right out of childhood stories and into his life.

No wonder she’d always seemed out of his league.

The door swung open and Hamish felt as if the breath had been knocked out of him. With her milky white complexion, sleek black hair, and flawless elfin features, there was no way the woman in front of him could be anyone but Snow White.

The fairest of them all, the stories said.

Not quite, as far as Hamish was concerned. She was beautiful, but no one could hold a candle to Belle. Snow White’s eyes widened and he saw a flicker of fear cross her face before she focused on Belle. “Belle,” she breathed. “You came.”

“Of course I came,” Belle said. “Is Emma here?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, please come in.” Her eyes swept over Hamish once more as he followed Belle into the tiny studio apartment. “You must be Hamish. Emma mentioned you.”

Belle turned to face the princess and her jaw dropped. “You’re…”

“Pregnant,” Snow White beamed, placing one hand on her stomach. “I know. It was the strangest thing - one minute we were standing at the town line watching you all drive away, and the next I was back in this apartment and very pregnant.”

“And you don’t remember  _ anything _ ?” Belle asked. “You’ve been gone more than two years.”

“No. Mother Superior is trying to find a way to restore our memories, but if it has anything to do with the Dark Curse she might not be able to…”

“Belle? What the hell are you doing here?” Another stunning woman - this one blonde and fierce-looking, appeared on the stairs. “I told you…”

“I know, Emma, but...I couldn’t stay in Lochdubh, and I want to help.”

Emma pursed her lips and nodded. “Hey, Hamish,” she said tightly. “Neal told me about you. You’re gonna get a lot of weird looks around here, so be warned.”

“We met Leroy on the way in,” Belle said.

“I was lucky to get away with my head still on my shoulders,” Hamish groused.

Emma folded her arms and smirked. “He’s pretty protective. Of Mom at least.”

_ Mom _ .

“Besides being Neal’s girlfriend, Emma is the daughter of Snow White and Prince David,” Belle informed him helpfully.

But she was…

Right. Magic. He had to remember that.

“My kid has a storybook that can explain everything,” Emma said, her voice softening. “You should talk to him in the morning.”

“For now, tell us what you know.” Hamish folded his arms. “Is anyone missing besides Neal and...who else was it?”

“Regina,” Snow White said. She gestured at the kitchen table and sank into a chair, her hands folded protectively over her belly. “She’s my stepmother and Henry’s adopted mother.”

“You would know her better as the evil queen,” Belle said. “She’s not really evil anymore, but...are you  _ sure _ the Curse wasn’t her doing?”

“We can’t be sure of anything, obviously,” Emma said. She sat next to her mother and Hamish noticed that they had the same rounded, dimpled chin. “But she hasn’t tried to contact Henry, and that makes no sense at all. It’s not like her.”

“As far as whether anyone else is missing, we can’t be sure of that either.”

“Has there been a roll call of any kind? A census?” Hamish felt a muscle ticking in his jaw at the princess’s wide-eyed, confused silence. “A show of hands, even?”

“I...no, we…”

“Well, that’s our first step, then,” he said. “First thing tomorrow. Do you have a police force here?”

“I’m it,” Emma said. “Besides my dad, of course. He’s on the night shift.”

“You’ve got your guard, your - your majesty,” he said to Snow White, stumbling a little over the words. “Can we utilize them?”

“Yes, they’d be glad to help.” She sat up a little straighter and looked thoughtful. “The fairies, too. Blue knows nearly everyone in the Enchanted Forest.”

“Do you have a map of the city somewhere? We’ll divide it into sections and send pairs of census takers to each section, every house. Make a record of the names of all individuals, ask if they’re missing anyone. They’ll report back and we’ll make a masterlist, and we can move on from there.” All three women were staring at him and he raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“Anything else?” Belle asked.

“Tell them to keep an eye out for anyone they don’t recognize. Whoever did this is still in the area. You don’t remember the last few years...maybe there’s a reason for that. This person doesn’t want you to recognize them.”

“Okay. Good plan,” Emma sighed and rubbed at her forehead. “I didn’t want you to come here and put yourself in danger, Belle, but I’m glad you did. Are you gonna stay at Granny’s? We can meet at the station first thing in the morning.”

Belle nodded, then stepped forward slowly. Carefully she wrapped her arms around Emma’s shoulders, and Hamish hid a smile at the other woman’s stunned expression.

“We’ll find them, Emma. I swear it.”

“Thank you,” Emma whispered, her eyes closing briefly. She looked at Hamish. “You, too. I’ll have Henry meet with you tomorrow.”

Hamish nodded, looking back once over his shoulder as they left the loft. Two pairs of green eyes watched him speculatively as he followed Belle, and a shiver ran up his spine. This was easily the strangest thing ever to happen to him.

“That was…” Belle sighed and took his hand when they were out of the apartment building. “You are a  _ really _ good police officer, did you know that?”

“Aye.” Hamish grinned down at her. “Glad I came along, now, eh?”

Chuckling, Belle leaned her head against his shoulder and led him back to the large, rambling inn they’d parked in front of. The bell above the door jingled merrily and there was a clatter of footsteps on the stairs; the next instant a tall dark-haired woman had tackled Belle in a fierce hug.

“Snow called and said you were back,” the woman squealed. “I can’t believe it!” She pulled back, her large dark eyes sparkling with tears.

“It’s good to see you, Ruby,” Belle smiled, squeezing the woman’s hands. “This is Hamish.”

The woman nodded at him, not a trace of fear or suspicion in her eyes. “Hey, I’m Ruby. Or Red. Either works for me.”

Hamish eyed the red streak in her hair and she smiled, stroking one hand over it. “No, that’s not it. I used to wear a red hooded cape.”

“Ah.” This was the strangest revelation of all. He had definitely never heard of a grown-up Red Riding Hood. “Survived the wolf, did you?”

“Not exactly.” She grinned a sudden feral grin, and her eyes flashed. “I don’t know why everyone’s so freaked out,” she said to Belle. “He might look like Rumplestiltskin, but it obviously isn’t him.”

“Not everyone has your superior senses,” Belle pointed out.

“True. So,” she put her hands on her hips. “You guys need a room?”

“Two rooms,” Belle corrected her.

Ruby smiled slyly and glanced at their linked hands. “You sure about that?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

She rolled her eyes and flounced to the desk. “Would you play along if I told you that we only had one room available?”

“ _ No _ .”

“You’re no fun.” Ruby pouted and held out two keys. “Here. Right up the stairs.”

“Thank you.” As she took the keys, Belle reached out to hug the woman again. “It’s so good to see you again.”

“I missed you,” Ruby whispered.

“As far as you know I’ve only been gone two weeks.”

“Know-it-all.”

Belle giggled and led Hamish up the stairs, handing him a key at the top so that he could let himself into the room. He smiled faintly back, and she put a hand on his arm. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, just…” He rubbed the back of his neck and let himself into the room, hoping she would follow him. She did, closing the door behind her, and he tossed the key onto the desk before turning to look at her. “You told me you didnae have anyone, Belle. That no one cared for you, no one loved you. That’s no’ what I’m seein’.”

She was silent, staring at the floor between them.

“Grumpy, at the town line - he was thrilled tae see you. And Red down there...I thought she was gonna cry. These people cared about you. Why did you really leave?”

“Leroy and Ruby were my friends, that’s true, but…” Belle sighed and leaned against the desk. “I was the girlfriend - or mistress, or lover, or whatever - of the Dark One. I told you Rumple had a bad reputation, but it was more than that. He was cursed with a terrible dark magic, and he wasn’t always kind. Everyone feared him, and they kept me at a distance. Except when I could be useful, of course. Leroy and Ruby were the kindest to me, but they had their own lives to live and their own battles to fight. Besides, Rumple...Rumple and I were True Love.”

He tried to understand why that should matter, but in the end he shrugged helplessly.

“True Love is the most powerful magic there is,” Belle explained. “True Love’s Kiss can break any curse, defeat any evil. In our realm nothing is more treasured, and only a very lucky few find it. The thought of going back there without him - I couldn’t face it. I wasn’t brave enough.”

Folding his arms, Hamish nodded, staring at the ground. He could not,  _ would not _ ask what he was to her if Gold had been her true love. He might not know much about fairytales, but he knew enough to know that true love could not be trumped. Even if she could love him, he would always be second to Gold, and that knowledge cut him much more deeply than he’d expected.

“Hey. What are you thinking?”

He looked up at her worried face and gave her a small smile. “That it’s late, and we have a long day tomorrow. We should get some sleep.” She didn’t look convinced, but he walked over and took her hand, leaning in to brush a kiss across her lips. “Good night, Belle.”

“Good night,” she said cautiously, still searching his face for something. She looked doubtful and unsatisfied as she left, and he closed the door and leaned against it, drawing a shuddering breath. Grumbling under his breath, he pulled a small notebook and a pen out of his pack and began scribbling down notes. There was no way he’d be able to sleep tonight, and if he wasn't going to sleep, he might as well work.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm shocked I had the concentration to finish this, as I was almost done when I got the call offering me my first teaching job. However, now I can post it in celebration!


	17. Strange Bloodline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle faces a bit of her past, Hamish gets a lesson, and Belle makes a discovery.

They were the strangest census-takers Hamish had ever seen. The seven dwarves, their adopted non-giant giant brother, and a group of women in nun’s habits stood uneasily in the sheriff's station, all of them eyeing him with varying degrees of trepidation - a few with outright horror. Ruby from the inn was there, as was a small iron-haired woman Hamish assumed must be the Granny of legend. She was clutching a crossbow and looked ready to rip the world apart. Prince Charming had gone home after they arrived, the deep circles under his blue eyes attesting to his need to sleep - and that was another strange meeting for him. The prince - Emma seemed to fluctuate between calling him “Dad” and “David” - had looked him over carefully, his expression completely neutral, before shaking his hand and welcoming him to Storybrooke. It was the most normal interaction Hamish had had so far.

“David and Mr. Gold were...well,  _ friends _ is maybe pushing it...but they had a lot in common,” Emma had explained. “I wouldn’t say he  _ liked _ him, but...he understood him to a certain extent.”

Now Emma was outlining Hamish’s plan for them, assigning pairs of census-takers to sections of the map. When everyone had their assignments, they marched out into the town armed with clipboards and pencils, and Emma leaned against the desk and took a deep breath.

“So now we wait,” she said wearily. “I hate waiting.”

A man with a hook for a hand - Hamish could only assume he was Captain Hook - stepped up beside her, his blue eyes dark with sympathy. “Why not search the woods with me? We haven’t assigned anyone that part of town but it’s worth looking around, isn’t it?”

Hamish frowned a little.  **_We_ ** _ haven’t assigned anyone _ …? So far all the good captain had done was stand about looking pretty and concerned. Belle had given him a wide berth, and whenever he moved into her part of the room she always inched a little closer to Hamish.

“Yeah, I guess,” Emma answered. “Let me just take care of one other thing.” She pulled out her phone and walked out of the room, leaving Belle and Hamish alone with the pirate.

Hook turned to Belle. “Thank you for your help,” he said. “After everything, no one would have been surprised if you’d never come back.”

Belle crossed her arms. “I care about Neal, and I wanted to help. Why are  _ you _ here, Captain?”

“I was brought here like everyone else,” he pointed out.

“Were you? Emma said you woke up on your ship. Why not just sail away?”

Fidgeting, Hook looked away. “I recognized the city from my last sojourn here, and I remembered that Baelfire had lived there once. I wondered if he lived there again, and when I found them I knew it had been no accident. If  _ I _ had returned with no memories, the odds were good the others had as well.” He stepped a little closer, flinching when Belle stepped back. “I am very sorry for your loss.”

“You hated Rumplestiltskin,” she said flatly. “I still have the scar to prove it.”

“Scar? What scar?” Hamish asked.

Hook grimaced. “Er - a, uh - misunder - “

“You  _ shot _ me,” Belle snapped. “ _ After _ you tried to corner me in the library and after you captured me on your ship. I lost my memories - I could have lost my  _ life _ \- because of you. How exactly is shooting someone on your third attempt to kill them a  _ misunderstanding _ ?”

Hamish’s fingers curled into fists, and he could feel his face reddening.

“I regret all of that,” Hook said. “I was...I was mad with vengeance. Revenge had driven me so long that I would stop at nothing to get it.”

Belle shook her head. “But you didn’t go after him, you went after  _ me _ . What had I ever  _ done _ to you?”

“I couldn’t touch him, and…”

“Stop.” Belle’s voice cracked and Hamish was torn between wanting to pull her into his arms and wanting to strangle Hook with his bare hands. “I don’t care. I just...I can’t do this.” She turned to Hamish and squeezed his arm. “I’m going to the shop. Rumple kept a lot of his old books there and I might be able to learn something about what’s happening.”

“I’ll come with…”

“Hey, Hamish?” Emma poked her head back into the room. “Henry’s on his way over for your debriefing.”

“I’ll be fine on my own,” Belle said with a shaky little smile. “Just find me when you’re done, okay? Emma, I’m going to the shop to do some research.”

“Hook, you could go with her and…”

“No,” Belle said firmly. “I’m fine.”

“Okay. Well, let us know if you need anything.” Emma looked back at Hook. “When Henry gets here we’ll go take a look in the woods, like you said. No telling who’s hiding out there.”

* * *

Belle’s hands shook as she made her way through town to the pawnshop. Everyone else she’d been able to see with composure. Snow White and Prince David, who had once locked Rumple in a cell to stop him from collecting on a deal Cinderella had willingly, eagerly made. The Blue Fairy, who had tried to send him and his son away from the Enchanted Forest forever instead of helping him to defeat the Darkness.

But Hook...oh, she would never, never forget the look in that pirate’s eyes when he had chased her around the library, or when he had held her at gunpoint on the Jolly Roger. Those eyes had been cold, calculating, shrewd - he had known that hurting her was the best way to hurt Rumple, and he had spared not a single thought for her. He had seen her as a  _ thing _ to be used against his enemy, a tool with which to destroy him, and while Belle firmly believed that anyone could be redeemed, she was not quite ready to forgive the man who had hunted her and her true love with such single-minded intent, such cold-blooded tenacity.

Walking into the pawnshop was like walking back in time. Not a single artifact was out of place, all just as she remembered it, and for a wild moment she half expected Rumple to step from behind the curtain and smile at her, invite her back to look at some precious new object he’d found, or tell her the story of how this or that item had come into his possession. A wave of emotion washed over her, threatening to drown her with its intensity, and she pushed it back down. Rumple was gone, but he might have left something in the shop that could help them understand what was happening.

She moved behind the counter and bent to inspect the magical tomes he’d kept there. Carefully she pulled them out and set them on the glass, blowing the dust away with a tremulous breath.

Walsh had told her that his employer could bring Rumplestiltskin back, but Rumple had always been adamant about the impossibility of such a thing.  _ Dead is dead _ , he would say.  _ Magic can do much, but not that. _ It was one of the fundamental rules of magic, and Belle knew that even if he could break it he would not - some prices were too great to pay. 

What, then, could be this mysterious person’s plan? Belle thought she had an idea, but it was so dangerous that she couldn’t imagine anyone with even a modicum of magical knowledge attempting it. She flipped through the pages of one of the books, her mind running over the possibilities, and she was so absorbed that she didn’t hear the bell ring over the door of the shop.

“You must be Mrs. Gold.”

Belle gasped, her head snapping up. A woman with curling red hair and shining green eyes stood on the other side of the counter, a nervous smile playing across her pretty features.

“Uh...no, I’m...I’m not,” Belle said, closing the book hastily.

“Is Mr. Gold around?”

“No, he isn’t.” Belle smiled sadly. “He died a few years ago.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry for your loss…” She searched Belle’s face, and Belle took pity on her.

“Belle.”

“Belle.” The woman touched her hand kindly. “That’s such a pretty name.”

Smiling, Belle moved her hand out from underneath the other woman’s. “Thank you.”

“I’m so sorry to bother you, but I was hoping to buy a baby gift for a lovely woman I met in Granny’s diner. Maybe you know her, she goes by Mary Margaret here.” At Belle’s surprise, the woman explained, “I’m helping her with her pregnancy and today is my first day on the job. Curse or no curse, a girl’s got to work.”

“Mary Margaret?” Belle breathed a little more easily. “I think i may have just the thing.” She turned to walk around the counter to retrieve the mobile Rumple had said had once belonged to the royals. It would be fitting for the new prince or princess to have something from the Enchanted Forest. As she fetched a stool and removed it from its place hanging from the ceiling, the woman cooed with delight.

“It’s lovely! What exquisite craftsmanship!”

“I believe the dwarfs made it for Emma; it was to hang in her nursery, but...well, we all know how that went, don’t we?” Belle said.

For just a moment the woman’s calm facade faltered and she looked confused. “Oh, yes of course,” she said. “The Evil Queen’s dark curse.” She looked at the mobile in Belle’s outstretched hands. “I don’t suppose you have any way to wrap it? I would look a bit awkward carrying that down the street.”

“Certainly.” Belle pulled a box out from behind another counter and then began the painstaking process of tucking the various glass unicorns and wires and poles into the box without breaking or tangling anything. “I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”

“Oh! Zelena. I wasn’t a part of the first curse, somehow - I must have just missed it.”

“I understand there are a lot of newcomers this time around,” Belle mused. “What part of the Enchanted Forest are you from?”

“Oh...here and there.” Zelena shrugged. “A midwife goes where she must you know. Thank you so much for your help, Belle, you’ve been a treasure.” With another smile she lifted the box and turned for the door, but spun to face her again, horror on her face. “Goodness! I almost forgot - how much for the…”

“Technically it always belonged to Mary Margaret,” Belle told her, “so take it and welcome.” Rumplestiltskin would be horrified, Belle thought with a secret smile, but she would have been able to talk him around.

“You  _ are _ a treasure,” Zelena cooed. “Thank you so much!” She swept from the shop and Belle sighed, turning back to her books. Halfway to the counter she stopped with a frown, the carefully approached the painting that hung behind the counter - the one that concealed Rumple’s safe. She had not touched it since she entered, but when she looked closely, she saw that the latch hadn’t caught. Cautiously she swung the painting open and stared at the safe helplessly. Since Hook had broken into it, Rumple had sealed it with blood magic so that no one could open it save himself or his kin. A shiver ran down her spine.

She had discovered at least one reason that Neal was missing.

* * *

Henry had familiar dark eyes, and Hamish realized with a start that they looked exactly like his own. The boy set a heavy leather-bound book in his lap and he stared at the gleaming gold title.  _ Once Upon a Time _ . He fought the urge to laugh, even though the situation was anything but funny.

“So...my dad said you’re a cop in Scotland,” the boy said.

“Aye. Police constable.”

“You look a lot like my grandpa.”

“So everyone tells me.”

Henry flipped the pages of the book until he came to a story titled  _ The Spinner _ . “That’s him,” he said. The man in the picture was small and thin, with shaggy dark hair that reached his shoulders. His eyes looked too big for his pinched, angular face, and he was clearly underfed and weak, but Hamish saw the resemblance immediately. “He was a spinner with a bad reputation - they said he was a coward. His land was fighting a war against ogres and they were drafting kids.” He pointed to the young boy in the illustration. “That’s Baelfire. These days he goes by Neal Cassidy. He’s my dad.”

“So all this,” Hamish waved a hand at the book, “all this happened, what...thirty years ago?”

“Not exactly. The first ogre war was about three hundred years ago.”

Alright...so Snow White was in her early thirties with a daughter her own age, and that daughter had had a kid with a man who was three hundred years old. Made perfect sense. Hamish felt his head start to pound.

“I don’t know how much you want to know…”

“Everything,” Hamish sighed. “I want to know everything.”

“That’ll take a while,” Henry said. “How about just a recap?”

An hour later Hamish knew more about fairy tales than he’d ever wanted to know, and he could now understand why it had taken Belle an entire night to tell TV John her history. Hell, he was surprised it hadn’t taken them a week. “So...this Rumplestiltskin...he was behind  _ everything _ ?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah. It was all to get back to my dad.” Henry looked at the final picture in the book, a picture of Snow White and Prince Charming clutching each other, fear writ large on their faces. The last few pages of the book had been torn out, and Hamish found himself a little upset that that was the last image to be seen. “I know everybody was scared of him. Some of them even hated him. But...he was my grandfather.” Henry flipped slowly back to  _ The Spinner _ and gazed sadly at the peasant’s face. “I wish I’d known him better.”

Hamish’s phone rang and he frowned at the screen before answering. “Belle?”

“Could - could you bring Henry to the shop, please? I need to test something,” she said nervously.

“Of course,” he said. “Everything alright?”

“I don’t think so, no. Just...come quick.”

“What’s up?” Henry asked as Hamish hung up.

“She wants us tae go to the shop. D’you know where that is, lad?”

Henry gave him a wry look. “This is  _ Storybrooke _ . It has one main street and I grew up here. I know where  _ everything _ is.” He rose from his seat and headed for the door, leaving Hamish to hurry after him.

When they entered the shop, Hamish stopped and took a breath. The place was filled with objects and jewelry and crockery and strange odds and ends, and the atmosphere was heavy and dark. It was a veritable Aladdin’s cave, and Hamish wondered if the odd prickling feeling on his skin was a result of the magic that must surely be collected here. Belle was behind the farthest counter inspecting a wall safe.

“Hello, Henry,” Belle said with a smile.

“Hey.” The boy glanced around the shop uneasily. “I haven’t been in here since we came back. I don’t think anyone has.”

“I think maybe they have, but I need to check something to prove it.” She looked at Henry thoughtfully. “What do you know about blood magic?”

“Not a lot, but it sounds like magic in blood?”

“Rumple sealed this safe so that only his blood could open it.” Belle looked suddenly uneasy. “But when it comes to magic, blood doesn’t just mean  _ blood _ . It means  _ family _ .”

“So...you think my blood could open Grandpa Gold’s safe? Cool!”

“Yes. Which means your father’s could, too.”

“Oh.” Henry’s grin immediately dimmed. “Oh, right. Yeah. Do you think that’s why my dad as taken?”

“I don’t know, but I’d like to see if I’m right. Do you mind?”

“No, of course not.” Henry eagerly held out his finger. “Go ahead, stab away.”

Belle rolled her eyes and took a needle from a nearby pincushion. Gently she pressed it into the tip of his finger, and then stepped back so that he could press his finger to the lock of the safe. There was a soft hiss and a faint green glow, and the safe’s lock clicked open. Hamish tried not to feel surprised or shocked as the door swung open.

“ _ Awesome _ ,” Henry whispered.

“Yes,” Belle said shakily, “but Henry...that means I’m right, and someone could use your father’s blood to open the safe.”

“But why? Is there anything missing?”

“Yes.” Belle pulled out an empty jar and stared at it. “I just don’t know what. Rumple kept all kinds of things in here, and he never got around to letting me label things.” She shook her head. “He knew what and where everything was, infuriating man, and he didn’t see any reason to...anyway. I have no idea what was in this jar.”

“Did you have any visitors today?” Hamish asked.

“I - yes, one, but she was looking for a gift for Mary Margaret.”

“Did you know her?”

“No.” Belle felt a little dizzy. “But I don’t know many people from the Enchanted Forest.”

“Did you ever leave her alone out here? Go into the back for any reason?”

“No.”

“Who was she?”

“A midwife named Zelena - she said she works for Mary Margaret.”

“I’ll ask about her later,” Hamish said. “See if she checks out. For now…”

The door to the shop burst open and Emma stood silhouetted in the doorway, Hook directly behind her. “Henry!” she cried. “There you are!”

“What is it? What’s going on?”

“I’m still not sure, but from now on you don’t go anywhere without me.” Emma reached out and pulled him close to her side.

“What’s wrong, Emma?” Belle asked. “Weren’t you in the woods?”

“We were,” Emma breathed. “But things have gotten weird. Er. Weirder.”

“That’s possible?” Hamish asked faintly.

“Apparently.” Emma stooped down and leveled her gaze with Henry’s. “Kid, that book of yours doesn’t say anything about winged monkeys, does it?”


	18. Double, Double Toil and Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamish's plans speed the investigation along, and something's up with Hook.

_ Zelena snarled. “What do you mean, the Dark One’s son did not return? He  _ **_must_ ** _ have!” _

_ “There was no one by the name of Baelfire in their party, my lady,” Aurora said shakily. “He stayed behind with his own son.” _

_ “What about the servant girl they say he took all those years ago? Belle, wasn’t it? Perhaps she could do in a pinch.” _

_ “I met no one by that name.” _

_ Zelena growled and waved a hand, and the girl’s head whipped to one side as if she’d been slapped. “ _ **_Useless_ ** _. But then, all you spoiled little princesses are.” _

_ “Please, my lady, I - we’ve done as you asked. It isn’t our fault that…” _

_" Fault? No, I suppose not. Go, and if you breathe a word to anyone about this, I will skin your precious Philip alive.”_

_ W _ _ hen the girl was gone, Zelena glared around her sister’s room for something worthy of her rage. Fixing on a stupid little crystal decoration on her vanity, Zelena hurled it across the room, watching with satisfaction as it shattered on the flagstone floor. _

_ “My lady? Are you well?” _

_ Zelena took a deep breath and turned to face Walsh, who hovered just inside the door. “There has been a...complication in our plans. The only people who would have been interested in resurrecting the Dark One stayed behind.” _

_ “I thought the Queen was his student - would she not wish to…” _

_ “Undoubtedly, but she would not be willing to pay the price.” _

_ "But without him, my lady, how will you…” _

_ " _ _ It will be more difficult, certainly, but there are other ways.” She glared into one of the many mirrors hanging on the walls. “They are not  _ **_ideal_ ** _ , but they will do the job. We must concentrate all of our efforts on returning to the Land Without Magic. When I have succeeded, Rumplestiltskin will never have died at all, and it is  _ **_I_ ** _ who will be chosen.” _

* * *

“Winged monkeys?” Henry stared at his mother as if she were crazy. “Those aren’t fairy tale characters.”

“I know, but...well, that’s the only way I know to describe what we saw,” Emma looked rattled. “I mean, I know there are other realms, y’know? Obviously. But I can only think of one place winged monkeys would come from.”

“So now we’re dealing with  _ The Wizard of Oz _ too?”

“Oz?” Belle came around the counter, her heart pounding. “I thought...I thought Oz was a myth.”

“You’ve heard of Oz?” Emma closed her eyes. “Ok, I guess that settles that. Oz is real. Fantastic.”

“And the winged monkeys are…?” Hook asked, waving his hook impatiently.

“That’s new to me,” Belle shrugged. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Well, we have.” Henry shared a look with his mother. “Only one person in Oz works with winged monkeys. The Wicked Witch of the West.”

“The woman with green skin, aye?” Hamish said, and Belle turned to stare at him. “I’ve seen a film or two.”

“There’s a film?”

“What’s a film?” Hook asked.

“Never mind.” Emma huffed. “Okay, so...so if the monkeys are here, odds are she is too. But  _ why? _ What does she  _ want? _ ”

“Well, first we need to find out who she is,” Hamish pointed out. “And we can assume her skin isnae green in this world, because someone definitely woulda noticed that.”

“I guess that’s where the census comes in,” Emma said. She still looked a little shaken by the revelation that Oz, green women, and flying monkeys were now a part of her reality, but Hamish had to admire her grit. 

“So...we still haven’t seen or heard from my mom,” Henry said nervously. “But if the Wicked Witch of the West did all this, my mom  _ couldn’t  _ have. She was the evil queen, not a witch.”

“I never believed Regina did this, not for a second,” Emma said firmly. “There’s no way she would have brought us back here and then not come for you. Even if she’d gone totally Dark Side, you would’ve been her first priority.”

“Yeah.” Henry looked a little mollified, and Emma put an arm around him.

“It’s almost one,” Hamish pointed out. “We should probably go see what the others have found, aye?”

* * *

 

Mary Margaret - she had insisted that Hamish call her that, and he’d agreed because calling her “your majesty” was still much too surreal for him - sat at the head of several tables shoved together with her husband standing just behind her. They’d moved their base of operations from the sheriff’s station to Granny’s Diner because it was more centrally located. To Mary Margaret’s right sat Grumpy, his brothers in a row beside him, and to her left was the Mother Superior with a few of her nuns. Belle, Emma, Captain Hook, Granny, Ruby, and an older man Mary Margaret had called Marco sat farther down the table.

Hamish crossed his arms and leaned against the counter, eyeing each face and committing it to memory. Under Mary Margaret’s direction, each group read out the names of unfamiliar people they’d encountered. Doc had met a young lady named Tiana he didn’t know, but one of the nuns knew her. Astrid, a nun with a brilliant smile who kept sneaking glances at Grumpy, had never met a couple called Ariel and Eric, but Ruby, Belle, and Grumpy knew them. So it went, and Hamish could see bewilderment and fear beginning to creep across every face as they worked their way through the lists and discovered not a single person who wasn’t known to someone or other.

“That’s everyone,” Mary Margaret said at last, looking over the list and frowning. “I don’t understand - I thought surely…”

“Hang on,” Hamish said, straightening. “What about the woman who visited the pawn shop today? Said she was yer midwife?”

“Oh, Zelena.” Mary Margaret frowned at the papers in her hands. “Her name isn’t listed - but she was at my house for most of the afternoon. They must have just missed her.”

“And you knew her before?”

“No, I didn’t recognize her.” Glancing around the room, her pretty face grew wary. “Has anyone met a midwife named Zelena before?”

“The name isn’t familiar to me,” Mother Superior said. She looked down the table to the row of nuns. “Have any of you heard of her?”

They all shook their heads and Mary Margaret looked faint. “But...surely...what about you, Belle? Captain?”

Belle shook her head, and Hook shrugged. “I’ve met a good many women in my time, but never anyone named Zelena,” he said. “A name like that, I think I’d remember.”

Hamish looked at Emma over her mother’s head and saw that she was staring at Hook, her eyes narrowed and her mouth set in a firm line. Mary Margaret made a distressed noise and placed one protective hand over her belly.

“What if Zelena is the witch?” she asked. “I’ve let her into my home, drunk tea she made for us...how could I be so stupid?”

“You weren’t stupid, Mom, and we don’t know that she’s the witch. Either way, we need to find her and talk to her, maybe find out if she has any other connections in town who can vouch for her.”

“I don’t really see the point of all this,” David said impatiently. “Just because we remember someone doesn’t mean they didn’t cast the curse, and Zelena’s status as a stranger doesn’t make her guilty.”

“Obviously,” Emma answered. “But all we know about the caster of this curse is that they’re going after people who were close to Rumplestiltskin and they’re magical enough to pull off the Dark Curse. Blue keeps pretty close tabs on magic users, and it’s pretty telling that of all the people who’ve come over this time, this Zelena person is the only one no one seems to remember meeting.”

“Mom, I just thought of something,” Henry said. “Belle figured out why Dad is missing.”

Everyone swiveled to stare at Belle, and she fidgeted a little as she explained the safe and the blood magic.

“They’re keeping Neal for his  _ blood _ ?” Emma looked pale and David moved closer to her.

“They wouldn’t have needed much,” Belle reassured her. “Just a couple of small drops would do it, one to open the lock and one to seal it again.”

“And you don’t have any idea what was in that jar?” David asked.

“Something dangerous and powerful. Rumple wouldn’t have bothered to lock it away, otherwise.”

“Okay. We can worry about that later.”

Mary Margaret stood unsteadily, and David immediately went to her side to support her. “I’m sorry, I...I think I need to lie down.” She looked around. “You’re all dismissed. Thank you for your help today.”

“If anyone does run into this Zelena, would you send her to the station so I can talk to her?” David asked. “You can reach me on my phone; I’m going back to the woods to look around. Wanna come with me?” he asked his daughter.

“Nah, I’ve got something else I wanna do,” she said. She glanced at Hamish, and he recognized that look - it was the one a partner would use to make sure you had her back. Nodding slightly, he settled back against the counter and waited. The dwarfs and the nuns filed out, the other members of the council, but Emma pointed at Hook. “Not you,” she said firmly. “I need you to stay here.”

“Your wish is my command, love,” the pirate said with a smile. “How may I be of service?”

Emma met Belle’s eyes, and Belle immediately rose. “Henry, I think there might be some information in your book that we could use. Will you bring it back to the shop so I can take a look?”

Henry eyed her suspiciously, but shrugged and agreed. He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes dark and unreadable, as he left and Emma waited for everyone to empty out of the diner. When they were gone, she fixed Hook with a hard stare. “We’ve known each other awhile, Hook. We’ve climbed beanstalks. Waved swords at each other. Fought our way through Neverland.”

“Fallen desperately in love only to be tragically separated?” Hook suggested, and Emma rolled her eyes.

“My point is, you’re no stranger. You know me.”

“Oh, that I do, love.”

“Right. So tell me: why did you think you could lie to me?”

The charming grin on his face froze and slid away, and Hook’s eyes lost their roguish twinkle. “Come again?”

“When you said you’d never met anyone named Zelena, you were lying. The others didn’t notice, but I did.” She crossed her arms. “Superpower, remember?”

“I…”

“The truth this time, or things could get real ugly real fast.”

“I...well...the truth is that Zelena...she’s, er…”

Emma raised her eyebrows.

“A dalliance, alright?” Hook sighed. “A few years before the first curse.”

That still didn’t ring completely true. Hamish straightened and walked a little closer while Emma’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“And...and I’ve run into her again a few times since coming back,” Hook said hastily. “We...reforged the old connection and...well, it’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“Why didn’t you say so earlier?” Emma asked.

“I...didn’t want you to think badly of me.”

“Why should I care who you sleep with?” Hook looked a little lost for words, and Emma sighed. “Killian, we’ve been  _ over _ this. You and me - it’s never going to happen. You can romance every single woman in Storybrooke for all I care.”

“Aye, love, so you’ve said,” Hook said. “But you certainly were quick to notice that I knew Zelena.”

“Because I knew you were  _ lying _ .”

“Or because you were jealous.”

“Oh my God.” Emma shook her head and closed her eyes. “Does Zelena have magic?”

“None that she’s used in my presence.” Hook shrugged, the cocky grin making another appearance. “Not the sort you mean, at least.”

“Great, that’s all I need to know.” Emma stood back and waved at the door. “Please feel free to leave as soon as possible. I’m gonna go...clean up.”

Hamish frowned as Hook watched Emma’s departure, the calculating look in his eyes not quite disguised by the exaggerated leer. When the other man turned to leave, he met Hamish’s gaze and smiled coldly.

“You really do resemble the old crocodile,” he said.

“So I’ve heard.”

“Don’t suppose you’ve any magic of your own?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Here’s some advice, then, one mortal to another.” Hook leaned close as if to impart a great secret. “This isn’t your fight, mate. If I were you, I’d leave and never look back.”

“That your usual strategy, is it?” Hamish asked.

“Are you calling me a coward?” Hook pulled himself up to his full height and glared down at him.

“All I know about you is what ye’ve told me, and you just said you’d run away in my position. If that sounds like the coward’s way out tae you, I’d say ye called  _ yersen _ a coward.”

“Tread lightly, little man,” Hook said quietly. “You may have Emma’s ear for now, but I have sworn to win her heart, and when I do, you will regret crossing me.”

Hook turned on his heel and stormed out of the shop, and Hamish smiled grimly. When the pirate was gone, Emma poked her head around the corner of the door she’d disappeared behind.

“Okay, so he’s definitely up to something.”

“Aye, I’d say so,” Hamish said dryly.

“I’ll keep an eye on him. If he thinks he’s making progress with me he’ll be easier to keep track of, and you can help my Dad patrol the woods. We ran into the monkeys on the north side of town, so I’d bet there’s something out there if only we can…”

The walkie talkie on Emma’s belt suddenly squawked to life. “ _ Emma? Emma come in!” _ David’s voice was high and panicked, and Emma hurried to answer.

“Dad? What is it?”

“I’ve found her! I’ve found the witch! She’s…” He was cut off by static.

“Dad? You were cut off! Where are you?”

“I’m - of the - hurry - “

“Dad!”

The walkie talkie crackled and hummed, and then went silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah...not really a Scottish poem, but it's from the play about Scotland! and it's thematically appropriate! Anyway...what did you think?


	19. Th'envious Treachery of Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The investigation into Neal's disappearance takes a twist, and Belle may have discovered the curse caster's purpose - but nothing is as it seems, and it seems there's more than one agenda at work.

Hamish would never complain about his land rover again. The little yellow Volkswagen was the single worst police vehicle he’d ever seen, and as it bounced over the roots and rocks in the road, he gritted his teeth and reminded himself that there were worse things to endure. Next to him was the proof of that; Emma was beside herself, her face white as a sheet and her knuckles bloodless where she gripped the steering wheel.

“I can’t believe I sent him out here alone,” she said. “We all knew how dangerous it was...the monkeys and the witch and...what if something happened to him?”

“We’ll find him, Miss Swan,” Hamish said, grimacing as they hit a particularly jarring pothole.

“Don’t call me that,” she said. “You sound too much like...just call me Emma.”

“You weren’t fond of... _ him _ ...either, eh?”

Emma stopped the car abruptly and jumped out, Hamish following her. “I didn’t like him, but I didn’t  _ dislike _ him. He was Neal’s dad and Henry’s other grandfather, and he was the reason my parents got together. It’s just weird, y’know? He was... _ him _ . And he and Belle were... _ them _ . And then she shows up with you and it’s just…” She shook her head. “God, where is he? How am I supposed to…”

She stopped, staring off into the trees, and then took off at a run, Hamish following after her. David knelt in a clearing, looking exhausted and bewildered, his clothes muddy and torn.

“Dad! Are you okay?” Emma reached his side and wrapped her hands around his arm, pulling him to his feet. “Where’s the witch?”

“It wasn’t her,” David said.

“Who was it?”

“Me...myself.”

“ _ Yourself _ ?” Emma looked stunned. “Okay, so...where...where is...are...you?”

“I defeated it. It was playing on my worst fears, things I’ve never told anyone, not even your mother. Only when I admitted my fears was I able to stab it with my sword.”

“What sword?” Hamish asked. He glanced around on the forest floor, but saw nothing but leaves.

“The hilt - when I stabbed the...whatever it was...with my sword, the hilt disappeared.” David raised troubled eyes to Emma’s. “Why would it disappear? Where would it go?”

Emma shrugged helplessly.  


“Emma.”

The three of them turned at the sound of the new voice, and Emma let out a strangled cry.

“ _ Neal! _ ”

She dropped her father’s arm and ran to him, but a few feet from where he stood she appeared to run into a barrier; she was thrown back several yards, her arms pinwheeling as she struggled to remain on her feet. Hamish approached more slowly, wishing he had a firearm or something that would offer even the slightest protection. Something told him, however, that he had nothing to fear from the man.

Neal looked miserable and careworn, his clothes dirty and ragged and his face covered in several days’ worth of stubble. “I can’t stay long,” he said heavily. “She’ll call me back in a minute. But Emma...stop looking. Please. No harm will come to you and the others if you just back off.”

“She? Who’s she?” Emma approached him again, stepping carefully. “It’s Zelena, right? She’s the witch?”

Neal shook his head miserably. “She’s a victim just like me, Emma. Like all of us. She’s been trying to free me, but she’s powerless against…” He winced and staggered back, one hand at his head. “She’s calling me, Emma. I have to go back.”

“Neal, no!” Emma took another step forward. “If it wasn’t Zelena who did all this, who was it? Who captured you?”

“Think, Emma.” Neal looked as if he were fighting against invisible bonds, the words being dragged from him. “Who would lure us back here, only to prey on the innocent? Who would be so...so heartless? So  _ evil _ ?”

Emma’s face went white. “No. No, I don’t believe it.”

“Keep Henry safe, Emma,” Neal said, backing away from her. “Swear it.”

“Of course I will,” Emma said fiercely. “And I’ll find you. You know I will.”

Neal opened his mouth to respond, but black smoke billowed up around him, and he vanished.

* * *

“It can’t be Regina, it just  _ can’t _ be,” Emma was saying as she paced up and down the pawnshop. “None of it makes sense.”

“Emma, I know this is difficult for you,” Mary Margaret said gently, “but you don’t know Regina the way we do. The woman I knew - she’s capable of anything.”

“But she was  _ changing _ ,” Emma said. “She wasn’t the evil queen anymore, she was...she was  _ better _ .”

“And then she lost Henry,” Mary Margaret said. “You know how much she loved him. Losing someone you love - it can destroy the best of us.”

“But if she wanted to get back to him, why hasn’t she tried to contact him? Why hasn’t she come for him?”

“Maybe she has.”

Emma swiveled to look at Belle, who had emerged from the back room with David. “What?”

Belle held up the empty jar she’d found in the safe. “Based on what David described and on what I’ve found in some of Rumple’s books, it sounds like he was dosed with night root. It’s a magical plant that forces a person to face his worst fears.”

“He said he killed him. His fears. Whatever.”

“Yes, and then his sword hilt disappeared.” Belle fidgeted under Emma’s impatient gaze. “I don’t think it  _ did _ disappear, though. I think it was taken by whoever gave him the night root.”

“But why? What would anyone want with a broken sword?”

“When we face our darkest fears, our true courage is revealed,” Belle said. “True courage, like true love, is a powerful emotion. David’s sword is now a symbol of that true courage.”

“So what would anyone want with my father’s courage?”

“I have some ideas,” Belle said. “I need to do a little more research before I can say for sure. Emma...did you and Neal have something that was important to you? A symbol of your love for each other that you would recognize instantly?”

“Dreamcatchers,” Emma said. “That was always our thing. We kept one hanging in the bug.”

Belle nodded. “Okay. I need to go to the library, I think, and do some more research.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be alone. No one should.”

Belle glanced at Hamish. “Hamish can stay with me and…”

“Yeah, the thing is…” Emma looked a little fidgety now. “Dad doesn’t want to leave Mom alone for too long,” David nodded, putting one arm around Mary Margaret’s shoulders, “and I...I could kind of use some backup. If you don’t mind,” she said to Hamish.

Hamish shrugged uneasily. “I came here to help Belle,” he said. “Isnae there someone else who…”

Emma’s shoulders sagged. “This isn’t your fight, I know,” she said, “but...you seem like a good cop and someone who’s handy to have around in a tight spot. If I can’t have my dad, I was kind of hoping…”

“If she’ll have me, I could aid the lady in her research,” Hook said.

Belle, Hamish, and Emma shared wary glances. “I don’t know, Hook,” Emma said finally. “Research doesn’t seem like your thing.”

“I’ll admit I’m not of a scholarly bent,” he said, “but I can fetch and carry, and I’m more than capable of protecting her, should the need arise.”

“You do remember that you tried to kill me?” Belle said icily. “Twice?”

“Something I’ve regretted deeply,” Hook said. “Allow me to make amends, Lady Belle.”

Belle crossed her arms and studied him, and Hamish refrained from voicing his objections. If there was one thing he’d learned about Belle, it was that she hated to have others dictate to her. If she decided to accept the pirate’s protection, he would have to abide by her decision.

“Fine,” she said at last. “But I will be watching you, Captain.”

“Most ladies do, love.”

Belle rolled her eyes.

“Okay,” Emma said. “If what Neal said was true, we need to look for - for Regina. We know she hasn’t been back to her house or office, so she must have somewhere else to hide. Hamish and I will head out to the north side of town, since that’s where most of the monkey sightings have been. We’ll see what we can find. Belle, let us know the second you think you know what’s going on.”

“Of course.”

“Henry’s going to stay with you guys,” Emma said to her parents. “Please...don’t tell him what Neal said until we’ve found Regina. If there’s even the slightest chance that it’s not true…”

“We won’t,” David said. “We’ll take good care of him for you, Emma.”

When her parents were gone, Emma turned to Hamish. “Here,” she said holding out the small handgun she’d carried on her belt.

Hamish took it. “I didnae think I was allowed tae carry a firearm in the States.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I’m the sheriff, remember? And it’s not like the Feds are gonna come storming in.” She turned to Hook. “We’re on channel 3 on the walkies if you can’t reach our phones. Call us the second you know something.”

Hook bowed in acknowledgment, and Hamish and Emma made to leave.

“Wait!” Belle called, running after them. Hamish stopped and turned to her, his brow creased in worry. After hesitating a moment, Belle reached up to press a gentle kiss to his lips, and Hamish was almost too surprised to respond. “Be careful,” she whispered when she’d pulled away.

He nodded, barely registering the surprise on Emma’s face and the thinly disguised disgust on Hook’s. “You too, darlin’,” he said. Belle smiled and brushed a lock of hair off his forehead, then stepped back, and he turned to follow Emma out of the shop, his mind awhirl.

* * *

“You do have a type, don’t you?” Hook asked Belle when they’d barricaded themselves in the shop. He leaned against the counter and appeared to be studying her intently.

“I suppose it depends on what you mean by ‘type’,” Belle said tartly, flipping open the pad of paper she’d once briefly used to take notes while she did inventory.

“Well, you know,” Hook gestured vaguely. “First the crocodile, now this fellow.”

“My love life is really none of your business.” Belle opened an ancient tome on the glass counter and began scanning the contents. Hook swept one hand before him as if in apology and began to pace the length of the shop.

One spell stood out to her - it called for four powerful ingredients, and if her hunch was right...Belle reached for her pen to take down notes, but it was no longer where she’d put it. With a sigh she looked all around her, but the pen was nowhere to be seen.

“Anything wrong, milady?” Hook asked from the other end of the shop, where he was inspecting two grotesque wooden puppets.

“I need a pen,” she said, “and it appears I’ve misplaced mine.”

Hook approached her again and looked about her, then suddenly stooped to the floor. “Is this what you’re looking for, love?” he asked, holding up the black fountain pen Rumple had always preferred. Belle was sure it hadn’t been there a moment ago, but she supposed she’d been too flustered to notice it.

“Thank you,” she said, taking it from him.

True courage...true love...true intelligence...true innocence...they were ingredients nearly impossible to obtain all at once, but if it could be done...Belle’s pen flew over the page as she recorded her thoughts and suppositions and questions. Why would Regina need this spell? What could she hope to accomplish? How did she plan to avoid the myriad problems such a spell would inevitably cause?

She now had Charming’s courage, and Belle supposed Neal was being kept for a purpose other than the usefulness of his blood - though why he would be chosen as the supplier of true love when Emma would have been a clearer choice...Belle’s pen slowed and she considered that, wondering why Emma had been spared and Neal had been taken. Could Regina have some other purpose for Emma?

And from what source did she plan to harvest true innocence? Innocence in its purest form could only be found…

Belle caught her breath.  _ Of course _ . Snow White’s baby.  _ That _ was why the curse had been enacted when it had, instead of a year ago or even two or three months ago. It was perfectly timed to coincide with the new prince or princess’s birth.

Courage, love, and innocence were all accounted for then. Only intelligence remained, and as much as Belle loved Neal, and as canny and clever as he was, she didn’t think anyone would choose him for such a purpose. Who in the Enchanted Forest would have intelligence enough to be mined for such a powerful spell?

The space between Belle’s eyes began to pound as she pondered this question, considered the other townspeople. For whatever reason, Emma did not seem to be a target, and neither of the royals were known for their intellect. There was the psychologist - the cricket - what  _ was _ his name? She could not remember for the life of her. And the woodcarver’s son - had anyone seen him? He was clever wasn’t he? What was his name again? She couldn't recall what it had been in either this world or the last.

Dimly Belle felt a dull pain in her fingers and she looked down to where she still gripped the fountain pen, which was glowing green in her hand. It moved rapidly across the paper, though she had long since stopped consciously writing, and she drew in a deep breath as panic set in. Her thoughts spilled across the page in deep emerald ink, and her head grew fuzzy and her vision blurred.

“Feeling alright, milady?” Hook asked.

Belle shook her head, her breathing labored.

“Ah. Yes, I suppose it must be draining, having one’s thoughts and knowledge siphoned from one’s head. Don’t you fret, love. These…” and he ripped the page from the pad and the pen from her hand, “are all we need of you. You have yourself a nice long rest, and when you wake, you’ll be in a new world. Who knows? You may even have your precious crocodile back.”

Belle fumbled for her phone in her pocket, but her vision was going dark, and her knees buckled.

“Nighty-night,” Hook said with a cruel smile.

Belle watched helplessly as he strode out the door, and then everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally had time to write! And I think this chapter came out pretty well!


	20. Heartless and Wae

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and Hamish make some important discoveries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance for the ick factor at the end of this chapter.

“Tell me about Regina,” Hamish said when they’d been walking silently in the woods for logner than he could stand.

“Didn’t Henry tell you about her?” Emma asked.

“He told me a lot of things, and I cannae remember half of ‘em,” Hamish said. “But I’m more interested in what _you_ think of her.”

“I don’t know,” Emma sighed. “She raised Henry, and he’s pretty amazing, so I just...can’t see her the way my parents do. They’re good people, but they’re so _absolute_ about stuff like this. Good and evil, I mean. And maybe that’s the way it is in Fairy Tale Land, I don’t know. All I know is it’s not the way things work _here_ , and I can’t just... _decide_ that she’d done awful things because she used to be known as the Evil Queen.”

“But she has done something like this before.”

“Yeah. I know it...it doesn’t look good. I just hope if...I hope I can convince her not to do anything else. Whatever spell she’s trying to work, I hope we can stop her.”

The trees around them began to thin and they walked out into a clearing, a small white farmhouse coming into view. A bicycle with a wicker basket was parked near the porch, and the heavy doors of a storm cellar were evident a few yards away.

“Oh, come _on_ ,” Emma huffed, her hands on her hips.

“Does New England have many tornadoes, then?” Hamish asked.

Emma rolled her eyes and marched up the cellar doors. “If she’s hiding anything, it’d be down here. She has a thing for vaults.” She tugged on the doors, which swung open with a groan. Resting her hand on the grip of her pistol, she put one foot on the top step.

There was a loud screech and a rush of air, and Emma flew backwards as a monstrous creature dropped out of the sky and knocked her back with a swipe of its arm. Hamish drew and took aim, grateful he’d spent so much time practicing his quickdraw. The creature landed beside Emma and furled its great wings, then seemed to shrink in on itself as its form rippled and wavered. In an instant, Neal stood before them, his expression desperate.

“I told you, Emma,” he said hoarsely. “I begged you to stay away.”

“Neal!” Emma gasped, struggling to her feet. “Is she here?”

“She’s everywhere. You have to…”

“Come _with_ us,” Emma said, grabbing his hand. “Just...ignore her, fight it, walk away…” Neal grasped her wrist and pried her hand away from his; Emma tried to pull away, but his grip tightened and she grimaced. “Neal, you’re hurting me!”

“He warned you to stay away, Miss Swan.”

Hamish spun at the sound of the new voice, training his pistol on a raven-haired woman with large dark eyes and a cruel smile. She folded her hands before her and raised an eyebrow at him before focusing on Emma; Neal had spun Emma around, twisting her arm up behind her back, and Emma glared at the newcomer.

“Why are you doing this, Regina?” she spat. “Don’t you realize this will break Henry’s heart? He loves you! He _believes_ in you!”

“He will again,” Regina smiled. “Once I’ve set everything right. Once _you_ are out of my way forever.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You ruined _everything_. If I’d taken care of you from the beginning, I would still have my happy ending - my town, my power, my son. Thanks to you I lost it all.”

“But you had _more_ ,” Emma argued. “You had _friends_. You were earning our respect and trust instead of our fear. Why would you throw it all away?”

Regina shook her head. “What good did any of that do me, in the end? I still ended up alone, powerless...but no more. I _will_ put things right.” She looked at Neal and smiled. “There was one in our group that hoped it wouldn’t come to this but...well, I’m sure he’ll understand. Kill her.”

Neal spun Emma to face him again.

“Neal, no,” she whispered. “No...please...don’t…”

“I have to,” he growled, wrapping one hand around her throat. Emma kicked and struggled, but Neal was larger and stronger, he was slowly squeezing the life out of her.

The sharp crack of the gun took them all by surprise. REgina stared with wide eyes first at Hamish, and then down at her own chest, at the hole in her coat that ought to have dropped her instantly. In a whirl of smoke she vanished, and Emma crumpled to the ground, coughing, when Neal released her and staggered backwards.

“Go!” Neal shouted. “Run! Get out of here!”

Hamish snapped out of his stupor and darted forward; he grabbed Emma’s arm and pulled her up, propelling both of them through the clearing and back into the woods, his heart roaring in his ears. They crashed through the trees, Emma still coughing a little, Hamish frantically looking for any sign that they were being followed. As far as he could tell they weren’t and he took the wheel of the bug and roared back down the road.

“So that was Regina,” Hamish said when his breathing returned to normal. “Lovely woman. Apart from the murder attempt, I mean.” He glanced at Emma, who looked deep in thought. “You could’ve mentioned that shooting her wouldn’t work.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I shot her square in the chest and she barely blinked,” Hamish snapped. “How’re we supposed tae fight an enemy that cannae be killed?”

“You shot her in the chest?” Emma asked urgently. “Are you _sure_?”

“Of course I’m sure!”

“Heartless,” Emma breathed. “She’s _heartless!_ ”

“Aye, we’ve established that much.”

“No, I mean _literally_.” Hamish glanced across at her and saw that something like hope was dawning in her eyes. “Someone’s removed her heart!”

“How - if she doesn’t have - how is she…”

“Hearts are powerful magical objects,” Emma explained. “They can be used to control their owners - communicate through them - it was kind of a specialty of Regina’s.”

“And you...can you…”

“No way!” Emma grimaced. “I’d just found out about my magic when everything happened, and taking a heart - that’s seriously powerful dark magic. I couldn’t do it if I tried.”

“Are there any others who could?”

“I only know of two, and they’re both dead. I mean, it’s _possible_ that she did it herself, but...I just don’t think she did. I’ve said from the start that I thought someone else was doing this, and I still think that. Call it a gut instinct.”

Hamish nodded, frowning in thought. “So now we have flying monkeys, and someone’s collected courage and a heart.” He glanced at Emma and caught her eye. “I don’t suppose anyone has pickled brains lying around.”

Emma snorted and then looked thoughtful. “Actually, I don’t know. Dr. Whale made it back, maybe he does…”

They’d arrived on the main street, and Hamish stopped the car abruptly, his hands clenching the wheel.

“What is it?” Emma asked, following his gaze. The pawn shop’s door was open. “That’s weird. Weren’t Hook and Belle supposed to keep the doors locked and barricaded until we came back?”

Hamish leapt from the car and drew his gun again, Emma close behind him. They entered the shop and saw no one behind the counter, and Hamish felt his heart drop to his stomach. There were no signs of a break-in or struggle, but Belle would not have abandoned her post without letting one of them know.

“Belle? Hook?” Emma called. She holstered her weapon when no one answered. “They’re not here. Where would they…?”

Hamish had rounded the counter, and what he saw froze the blood in his veins. Belle lay motionless on the floor, her eyes closed and her face pale as death. “Belle!” he cried, dropping to his knees and grasping her shoulders. “Belle, wake up, darlin’!”

Emma rushed around the counter to join him, her eyes wide and frantic. “What happened? Is she hurt?”

There was no visible wound, no blood pooling around her, but she was completely unresponsive; her eyelashes didn’t so much as flutter when Hamish called her name. “What’s wrong with her?” Hamish asked helplessly.

Emma looked terrified. “I...I can’t be sure. We should get her to Dr. Whale, he can make sure there’s...Hamish, it looks like...I mean, I don’t want to say unless I know.”

Dr. Whale, like everyone else, seemed shaken to see Hamish, but perhaps that was explained by the appearance of the unconscious young woman in his arms. He hurried them to an examination room and then sent both Emma and Hamish away while he examined Belle. The lounge was empty and silent, and Hamish paced it restlessly.

“Where the bloody hell was that pirate?” he snarled. “He had one job - to protect her! Did he slip out for a drink? See something shiny in the street?”

“I don’t know,” Emma said miserably.

“She said he’d hurt her before,” Hamish said. “If he’s hurt her again…” He broke off when the doctor returned, his face grave. “What is it? What’s wrong with her?”

Dr. Whale shook his head. “As far as I can see, she’s perfectly healthy.”

“Then why won’t she wake up?” Hamish frowned as Whale flushed and looked away from him. “You know what’s wrong. Spit it out!”

“I...I have seen this kind of thing before,” Whale admitted. He looked up and met Emma’s eyes. “With Henry.”

Emma crossed her arms tightly and her lips flattened into a straight line.

“What?” Hamish snapped. “What’s going on?”

“There’s nothing Dr. Whale can do, Hamish,” Emma said quietly. “It’s a curse. A sleeping curse.”

“Magic,” Hamish said.

“Yeah.”

Bloody magic. Hamish wished he’d never heard of the stuff. “So what do we do? Isn’t there a - a spell or summat?”

“There’s only one thing I know of that can break a sleeping curse,” Emma said. “True Love’s Kiss.”

All of the breath left Hamish’s body is a single gust. “But - her True Love was Rumplestiltskin.”

“I know.”

“He’s dead.”

“Yeah.”

“Then how are we…?”

Tears glistened in Emma’s eyes. “I don’t know.”

* * *

Belle stared into her own eyes, wondering what on earth anyone had ever seen in them.

Blue. Cerulean. Like the sea, like the sky, like jewels, like stars. They were only eyes, what did the color of them matter? She’d been staring at them for ages - or for hours - or for moments - it was difficult to tell - and she was thoroughly sick of them.

She turned from the mirror, ready to look at something else, anything else, but there _was_ nothing else. She was confronted again by her own reflection, and when she turned another way, there she was again. There was no escaping herself.

She’d always been called beautiful. Her father’s pride and joy (until she revealed herself to be more than a pretty face), her mother’s treasure (until the day she was torn apart by ogres), the Beauty to Rumple’s Beast (until he was gone forever). She stared at her face in the mirror, scrutinizing each inch of it, trying to see what others saw. Eyes, nose, mouth - it was all there, but what about those features was superior to anyone else’s? What did any of that _matter_? As she watched, her face twisted and melted into grotesque shapes, and something in her snapped. She pounded against the mirror with her fists, but nothing changed. She gripped her hair in her hands and closed her eyes and slumped to the floor, determined not to open them again unless she could be certain that there was something worth looking at.

She was worthless. She ruined everything she touched. Because of her, her mother was dead. Because of her, Rumple had wanted to be a hero and died for it. Because of her, Hamish had been forced out of his beloved Lochdubh. Because of her, Regina would be able to complete her spell and wreak havoc on their world.

It was her fault, all of it, and regret and remorse coursed through her, causing her blood to run hot and her hands to shake. She gripped her hair more tightly, her hands and shoulders shaking with the effort not to cry, but then she gave up and sobbed freely. Who was there to hear her? She was alone in a room built of her own regrets, and if she wanted to cry until she turned to dust, she would.

* * *

“Were you successful?”

Hook smirked and held up the glowing pen. “Almost too easy, luv.”

Zelena plucked the pen from his fingers and opened it carefully to release its contents into a small golden bowl. Thick green smoke flowed from the pen, billowing and curling until it settled into the shape of a brain.

“Nearly done, then,” Hook said. “Though I have to say I’m not thrilled that you almost had Emma picked off. I thought we had a deal.”

Zelena rolled her eyes. “Trust me, darling, if we play our cards right, it wouldn’t make a whit of difference to you if she were to die right this second.” She placed the bowl on a high shelf, between the hilt of Prince Charming’s sword and an elaborately-carved box. “And the girl?”

“Sleeping like a babe.”

“Had she discovered anything damning?”

Hook shrugged. “I don’t know, but I took this just in case.” He held up the paper he’d torn from her tablet. When Zelena had read it, she hissed in displeasure.

“That little bookworm is far cleverer than I anticipated. She knew _exactly_ what we were planning. You did well.”

Hook preened. “All in a day’s work.”

“And you’re _certain_ there’s no one to wake her?” Zelena said.

“I took care of her father on your orders before we even left the Enchanted Forest,” Hook pointed out, “and her True Love is long dead. There’s no one else.”

“Excellent. Soon we will have our true destinies restored to us, but we must wait a few days longer.” Zelena smiled and reached out to trail one finger down his cheek. “However shall we pass the time?”

Hook grinned. “Oh, I’m sure we can think of something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know! I'm sorry! I'm sorry about the ick but it had to be done! I promise to make it up to you...


	21. Three That Come Uninvited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamish and Emma make some progress in their investigation.

“Hamish.”

Hamish looked up from his study of Belle’s face and met Emma’s eyes. She’d walked out quietly an hour ago, and he’d assumed that she was going to continue her search for whoever had hurt Belle. Here she was, though, standing before him again, and she’d brought another woman with her - one of the nuns.

“This is Mother Superior - the Blue Fairy.”

Hamish looked from one to the other, waiting for the point of this introduction.

“She’s a powerful magic user.”

His breath catching in his throat, Hamish shot to his feet. “You - you can help her?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say for certain,” the Blue Fairy said. Her voice was low and musical, almost mournful. “True Love’s Kiss is the only known cure for a sleeping curse, and the Lady Belle has always been a woman of...unusual tastes.”

Hamish grit his teeth at the woman’s tone.

“True Love is True Love, though, right?” Emma said.

“Yes. It’s a magic beyond any understanding.”

“Can you help her or not?” Hamish said impatiently..

“It’s impossible to say for sure,” the Blue Fairy said. “No sleeping curse has ever been broken any other way. However, that isn’t to say that there is no hope. We have discovered cures to strange magical maladies before. We can take her to the convent and watch over her there while we research a cure for her condition.”

“Right. I’m comin’ with ye,” Hamish said.

The women exchanged glances, and he fought to control his temper.

“I was...kind of hoping you could come with me,” Emma said slowly. “I still have to find the witch and I have to figure out how to free Regina and Neal and…”

“No.”

Emma winced. “I...I know it’s…”

“No.  _ No _ , a’right?” Hamish shot to his feet. “I’m  _ done _ helpin’ you, and Snow White, and everyone else in this ridiculous town! I’m done wi’ dwarves, an’ flyin’ monkeys, an’ heartless witches, an’ bloody  _ magic _ . I came here to help her, and she’s gone and got herself cursed, and I’m done wi’ all of it!”

Emma’s eyes had grown large and bright, glowing with sympathy, and he tensed as she stepped a little closer. “I get it, Hamish,” she said quietly. “I really do. When I came here, all I wanted was to help Henry, make sure he was safe and loved. I didn’t want to be a part of this - any of it. I fought it for  _ months _ . And then Henry was put under a sleeping curse. A curse meant for me.”

Hamish tried to ignore the twinge in his chest, and looked away from her serious, understanding gaze. 

“I hated everyone for what happened,” Emma said. “Regina, my parents, Rumplestiltskin... _ everyone _ . But what helped me defeat it was finally, completely  _ believing _ in all of it - magic, fairy tales, everything.”

“Are you saying if I believe in magic she’ll wake up?” Hamish asked.

“No. I’m saying that complete belief - total acceptance of what’s going on - will help you figure out a solution.” She paused for a moment, and he felt some of the fight drain out of him. “I know you’re scared and angry, but...Belle is safe, at least for now. My friends, my family - they’re all in danger. I know this isn’t your fight, and it’s a lot to ask. But I could really use all the help I can get. If you can’t help - if it’s too much - I understand.”

She stood and walked out of the room, and Hamish looked down at Belle, his mind awhirl. Belle would want him to help, he knew that without a doubt. If she ever came out of this curse, she would never forgive him for allowing her friends to be harmed because he’d gone off in a snit. And besides…

Besides, he was a police officer. He’d chosen this profession because he wanted to help people, to make a difference. He could no more walk away from people in trouble than he could fly.

He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from Belle’s forehead, then took a deep breath and walked out of the room. Emma and the Blue Fairy were waiting just outside the door, and he folded his arms when they turned to look at him.

“I’ll help you,” he told Emma. “I dunno what you want me to do, exactly, but I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you,” Emma said, a few of the lines around her eyes easing.

“We will do our best to revive the Lady Belle,” the Blue Fairy said earnestly.

“Right.”

There was a moment of awkward silence, and then Emma spoke up.

“I figured we should go back to the pawnshop - maybe whoever did this to her left a clue.”

“Whoever?” Hamish scoffed as they left the hospital and approached her yellow Volkswagen. “It was that bloody pirate.”

“He doesn’t have magic that I know of, but he’s definitely been in league with magic users before,” Emma said thoughtfully. “And he’s not exactly a genius. If it was him, odds are he screwed up somehow.”

“How did you get Henry out of the sleeping curse?” Hamish asked when they were on the way to the pawnshop.

“The same way everyone does,” Emma said with a shrug.

“So...True Love doesn’t have tae be...romantic?” Hamish’s heart beat a little faster. “It can be between parents and children?”

“That’s what worked for us.”

“Then...doesnae Belle have a father? We could…”

“Her father didn’t show up on anyone’s census,” Emma said sadly. “I double-checked. It doesn’t look like he made it over with everyone else.”

Disappointed, Hamish sat back in his seat. “What are the odds that’s a coincidence?”

“Not great. This Zelena person is good.” Emma pulled up in front of the pawnshop and sighed. “I just wish I knew what she wanted. I’m used to having  _ something _ to go on.”

“We have something,” Hamish said. “She’s collecting things for a spell, and she was targeting people with ties to Rumplestiltskin.”

“Which could mean that she has ties to him somehow.” Emma pushed the door to the pawnshop open and stood with her hands on her hips, looking around her. “God, I wish I could talk to Regina. She knew Rumplestiltskin better than anyone except Belle.”

“Friends, were they?”

“I don’t know about  _ friends _ . He taught magic to her and her mother. They always had this weird father-daughter, teacher-student thing going on, but with more snark.” She smirked a little and walked toward the counter, her eyes sweeping the room. “Henry would call them master and padawan. Y’know.  _ Star Wars _ ?”

Hamish grunted and looked around, pausing when he saw what was lying on the top of the display case. The note pad was blank, but there were jagged pieces of paper where a page had been torn off. The book open next to it was written in a language Hamish didn’t recognize, but the engraving pictured a cloaked figure standing in the middle of a circle carved into the ground, rather like a clock. At the three o’clock position was a symbol of a heart; at six o’clock was what looked like a brain. Heart pounding, Hamish brushed a finger across the notepad.

“Emma,” he said hoarsely, “do you have a pencil?”

“Not on me.” Emma walked over to look at what he’d found and drew in a breath. “Yeah, whatever she wrote may have left an impression. Good call.” She looked at the book and frowned. “Heart. Brain. I guess this anchor must stand for courage - but what’s the fourth thing?” She leaned over and picked up the book, nearly pressing her nose to the page. “Is that...oh my god!”

“What is it?”

“It’s a baby,” Emma breathed. “Is she for real? She wants to sacrifice a  _ baby _ ? How…” She suddenly paled and stepped back, still clutching the book. Hamish reached out to steady her. “Not  _ a _ baby,” Emma whispered. “ _ Our _ baby. She’s gonna steal my mother’s baby!”

“No, she’s not,” Hamish said firmly even as his own heart sank. “We’ll stop her, we won’ let her get near it.”

“What does she  _ want _ ?” Emma asked. “Who  _ is _ she? What could be worth sacrificing an innocent baby?”

“Maybe Belle figured it out,” Hamish said, picking up the notebook. “Maybe that’s why she was cursed - she knew too much.”

“Maybe.” Emma stared hard at the book. “ _ God _ , I wish Gold were here. And I never thought I’d say that. He was shady as hell, and the price of his help was always crazy high, but he never killed any babies. Not that I know of, anyway.” Her fingers suddenly glowed white, smoke curling up from where they gripped the edges of the book, and she dropped the book to the ground. Hamish watched her warily, but she merely took a deep breath, crossed her arms, and turned away from him. “Get the pad and let’s go,” she said flatly. “If all she’s waiting for is my mom to have the baby, we don’t have much time.”

* * *

A shaft of bright light penetrated the darkness, and Regina squinted, raising one hand to shield her eyes. Her heart raced at the sound of footsteps on the storm cellar stairs, and she stumbled to her feet as her captor came into view.

“Comfortable, sis?” Zelena asked, her teeth gleaming in a sharp, predatory smile.

“The room service leaves something to be desired,” Regina said, sneering at the dish of porridge in her sister’s hand.

“Well, we can’t all be queens. Not that you ever deserved such eminence.” Zelena leaned a little closer to the bars of the cage, and Regina’s hands curled into fists. “What made you so special, Regina? Why were you chosen over me?”

“Chosen? By whom?” Regina asked.

“By  _ everyone _ ! Our mother kept and raised you - why not me? And our teacher - why did he choose to train you and not me?”

“ _ That’s _ what this is about?” Regina backed away from the bars, her eyes wide. “Rumplestiltskin teaching me magic?”

“Oh, it was more than that, and you know it. He didn’t just teach you, he  _ groomed _ you - made you the queen you became, selected you to cast the most powerful curse ever crafted.  _ Why _ ? What made you so much worthier than me?”

“I…”

“I could have been more than a student to him - I could have been his equal, his partner. Were you capable of any of that?”

“Oh, my God...were you in  _ love _ with him?” Regina shuddered and pressed one hand to her stomach. “That is…” She was suddenly knocked across her cell and pinned against the far wall; Zelena’s hand raised, poised to choke the life from her.

“You didn’t value him as you ought,” Zelena growled, “but no matter. Unbelievable as it seems, you  _ did _ learn to love, and your love for your son is what will fuel my victory.” She lowered her hand, and Regina crumpled to the floor as Zelena held up her sister’s heart, red and glowing and pulsing with life. “True love - true courage - true intelligence - and when that little babe comes into this world, so pure and innocent, I will have my final ingredient, and this time  _ I _ will be chosen.”

“By Mother and Rumple?” Regina gasped, still catching her breath. “You can’t bring them back, Zelena. Nothing can.”

“Who said anything about bringing them back?” Zelena smiled. “I’m going to  _ them _ \- I will fix what went wrong.”

“You were  _ serious _ about that?” Regina said, her jaw dropping. “I thought you were just trying to throw Emma and...whoever that man was...off your trail. Going back in time - that’s impossible!”

“And Rumplestiltskin thought you the worthier student? Please.” Zelena turned and walked out of the cell, the door swinging shut with a clang. “You might have gone as far as you could, but I will go  _ farther _ . I will push magic to its limits and achieve the impossible, and once Rumplestiltskin realizes what I’ve done, he will have no choice but to choose me.” Zelena smiled at her sister through the bars. “Rest up, sis. The big day will be here before you know it.”

* * *

Hamish paced around the station house as Emma carefully shaded the notepad with a pencil. A few quick phone calls had ascertained that everyone was safe, Henry and Mary Margaret both safely stowed at the loft apartment with David on high alert. Hook had still not been seen, and even the flying monkey sightings had stopped. It was as if the town was holding its breath, waiting for the next big revelation.

“Okay,” Emma said from her desk. “I think I’ve got something here.”

Hamish went to stand behind her, squinting at the page. The indentations weren’t very deep, but certain words were legible - she’d listed true love, true courage, true intelligence and true innocence, with their respective symbols (Regina’s heart, Charming’s sword, and the royals’ baby) but there was a question mark next to true intelligence. Below that were several lines of illegible writing, and at the very bottom…

“Time travel?” Emma said. “Seriously?”

Belle’s words from the airplane suddenly sounded in his ears as if she were speaking them again.  _ The only way I can think of to bring someone back from the dead is ensuring that they never died in the first place. _ “We think this woman has some connection to Rumplestiltskin?” Hamish said. “Belle said something - Walsh, the man who came tae Lochdubh - he told her that this witch could bring him back.”

“And since magic can’t raise the dead,” Emma said slowly, “she wants to go back in time and make sure he never dies? That’s…I mean it’s crazy, but it’s kind of ingenious, too. But I’ve seen  _ Back to the Future _ ; time travel is super dangerous, assuming it’s even possible. She could change everything - destroy  _ everything _ .”

The phone rang, startling them both, and Emma grabbed it. “Hello?” She shot up out of her seat. “What? Now? Yeah, we’re coming.”

Dropping the phone back on its cradle as if it’d burned her, Emma grabbed her jacket and sprinted for the door. “That was my dad. Mom’s in labor. We have to get to the hospital  _ now _ .”

His heart in his throat, Hamish followed her.


	22. Yearning, Prides, and Shames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamish, Emma, and the dwarfs make one last desperate attempt to protect Snow White's baby from Zelena.

The yellow bug screeched to a halt outside the hospital. Emma barely paused to throw it into park before she leapt out of the car and sprinted up the steps two at a time with Hamish hot on her heels. Just inside the lobby they met the full complement of Snow White’s guard, Leroy at the front and clutching his axe in a white-knuckled grip. A few yards behind him stood Ruby, her eyes glowing strangely, and Hamish wondered what exactly she was doing there.

“Mom?” Emma said.

“Whale’s got her,” Leroy said. “Go, sister. We got this.”

Emma shot Hamish a questioning glance, and at his nod ran off down the hall while Hamish pulled out the gun she’d given him and turned to Leroy.

“What?” the dwarf asked.

“Where do ye want me?”

Leroy blinked in surprise, but then gestured to his left. “Back up Sleepy. He does his best, but…”

Hamish nodded grimly and hurried over to the balding man, whose eyelids were drooping already. He adjusted his grip on the pistol, squared his shoulders, and faced the doors. He was about to try to help the seven dwarfs defend Snow White and Prince Charming from the Wicked Witch of the West and the Evil Queen, and he took a second to wonder when his life had turned into this.

* * *

She was no longer in the room with mirrors.

If she didn’t know better, she would say that she was back at the Dark Castle, but even in her earliest days it had never seemed this...well... _ dark _ . The curtains were drawn and nailed down, but there was something more to this darkness, something heavy and draining, and Belle shivered as she looked around her. The table was there, upon which she had sat and begged for stories of Rumple’s travels. Gone were the artifacts that had sat on the pedestals around the room, and the floor was littered with broken shards of glass and splintered wood. On a raised dais sat something to bring tears to her eyes: Rumplestiltskin’s spinning wheel, covered in dust and cobwebs.

Everything about the room breathed abandonment and despair, and Belle felt a chill creep into her. She knew now what had happened and where she was. The mirrored room in which she’d faced herself, this terrible version of the castle, the feeling everywhere of sadness and regret: this was a sleeping curse.

She walked slowly around the hall, trailing her fingers through the coat of dust that had settled on everything, and contemplated what must have happened at the castle after she left. Knowing as she did now that Rumplestiltskin had loved her, believed her dead, and mourned her, she could imagine that he had shut himself up again and allowed the castle to go to ruin. He’d probably believed that he did not deserve light and comfort, just as he’d always believed that he did not deserve love.

Of course the worst part of all was that he’d died still believing he was a villain and that he would never get a happy ending - those were his last words. If Belle had to name one thing that she regretted more than anything else, it would be that. She must have done something wrong if he’d still believed himself unworthy of love and happiness. She should have been more affectionate or more affirming or more... _ something _ . She should have fought harder, loved more fiercely, held him more tightly.

Here in the castle, surrounded by dark and grief and pain, Belle understood with horrible clarity that everything -  _ everything everything _ \- was her fault.

* * *

Somewhere down the hall Snow White cried out, and Hamish squared his shoulders. The dwarfs were glancing at each other nervously, probably remembering what had happened the last time this had happened, except that there was no magical wardrobe to spirit the baby to safety, no known built-in failsafe to break the spell that was bearing down on them. They were essentially powerless in the face of this enemy, but there they stood, ready to fight magic with pickaxes, and Hamish didn’t think he’d ever respected a group of people more.

“She’s coming,” Ruby said suddenly, her nostrils flaring and her eyes glowing more brightly. “ _ They’re _ coming.” She stepped forward and flexed her hands. “You guys might want to back up.”

Grumpy and Tiny edged away from her, and Hamish watched, dumbfounded, as the dark-haired girl shimmered and writhed and, finally, transformed into a gigantic black wolf. The wolf pricked up its ears, bared its teeth, and stalked toward the door, its tail thrashing. It sniffed the air once more, let out a deafening howl, and bounded out into the street out of sight.

Well, of course Red Riding Hood was a werewolf. What else would make sense in this daft town?

The wolf girl’s howls continued until the cries of a baby rang through the hospital, and then the wolf was suddenly quiet. A terrible silence fell over the hospital, and Hamish tried to raise his arms only to realize that he couldn’t move. The doors flew open, and the Wicked Witch, resplendent in glittering black with a tall pointed hat on her head, strode in with Regina just behind her.

“Well, aren’t you adorable,” the witch cooed at the dwarfs. She stepped up to Grumpy and ran one finger down the blade of his axe. “Like garden gnomes standing guard over a delicate flower.” Hamish could practically hear the Head of the Guard grinding his teeth. Smirking, the witch turned away and faced Hamish, her eyes sweeping over him. “And  _ you  _ must be the little law officer everyone’s been whispering about. I must admit, you don’t look much like Rumplestiltskin to me.”

“You only knew him as the Dark One,” Regina said, gasping when Zelena threw up a hand to silence her.

“To think that the little bookworm could be satisfied with  _ you _ after having the greatest sorcerer in the realms. I pity her taste.”

Snow White cried out again, and then a new sound reached them - the shrill wails of a newborn. Regina turned white, and the witch smiled widely.

“It’s time,” she said. “At last everything will be as it should.”

She marched down the hall, and Hamish fought the spell with everything in him. He strained to move, but he couldn’t even twitch his fingers. A moment later Zelena swept past them again, a tiny bundle in her arms and Regina close at her heels. The moment they sepped outside, the spell lifted, but the two women vanished in a swirl of green smoke before Hamish could even raise his gun.

For a fraction of a second, they all stood frozen in horror, and then Grumpy’s axe clattered to the ground as he fell to his knees.  _ “Not again _ ,” he whispered. His brothers stared at him helplessly as footsteps pounded down the hallway. David and Emma careened around the corner; the moment David met Grumpy’s eyes he skidded to a stop.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” Grumpy said. “We failed. She’s gone.”

David’s eyes filled with tears and Emma clenched her fists, and the air around her seemed to shimmer and ripple with the force of her anger.

“It’s not over yet,” she growled. “She still has to cast the spell.”

“But we don’t know when or where that’s happening,” David said. “How will we…”

The hospital doors flew open and everyone jumped to attention once more, their weapons trained on the new threat. The huge black wolf was back, its teeth bared and its hackles raised.

“What is it, Ruby?” David asked.

Snarling, the wolf turned its head to grab something from outside, and with a swing of its neck launched its prize into the lobby. After landing in an ungainly heap on the floor, Hook moaned and tried to stagger to his feet.

With a roar Hamish leapt forward and pinned him to the ground, the muzzle of his pistol pressed between the pirate’s eyes.

“Hamish,  _ no _ !”

Emma and David were on either side of him, trying to pull him off of Hook, but he fought them, his vision turning red around the edges. Hook had gone completely still, his eyes wide and panicked.

“Get off,” Hamish snapped, but Emma tugged at his arm again.

“You can’t kill him!”

“The hell I can’t! Belle’s under that bloody spell because of him!”

“He didn’t cast the curse, Zelena did, and he probably knows where she is. We need him!”

Hamish shook his head, his finger tensing on the trigger.

“Hamish, please,” Emma said, lowering her voice. “My brother...Neal...Regina…I have to help them, and he’s the only lead we have.  _ Please. _ ”

Clenching his jaw so tightly his teeth hurt, Hamish let the gun fall away from the pirate’s head. He allowed David and Emma to pull him up by his arms, and then stood to one side as Hook stood, swaying slightly on his feet.

“My thanks, Swan,” he said to Emma, who studied him calmly before punching him square in the jaw. The pirate gasped and swore, staggering backwards, and Emma smiled grimly.

“The only reason you’re not choking on your own blood right now is that I think you know where Zelena’s casting the spell. Tell me where she is.”

Hook’s eyes flashed and then he scowled. “The barn on the east side of her farm. She’s gone there to set everything in motion.”

“How do we know you’re telling the truth?” David asked, stepping up next to his daughter.

“I suppose you don’t,” Hook said, “but I’ve no reason to lie. Not anymore. I  _ was _ helping Zelena, but she deceived me.”

“Really? She seems like such a stable, trustworthy person,” Emma said.

Hook shrugged. “Hers was the best offer at the time.”

“The  _ best offer _ ,” Hamish growled. “You helped this witch kidnap, enslave, and curse others because she gave you the  _ best offer? _ ”

“I’m a pirate, mate. We’ve never been known for our altruistic natures.”

“Fine. The barn. I’m going to stop her, and when I get back,” Emma stepped up so that she was nose-to-nose with Hook, “you will be gone, do you hear me? Go down to the harbor, get on your pirate ship, and  _ get out _ . I don’t want to see you in or near Storybrooke  _ ever again _ .”

“But...but where will I go? This isn’t my world!”

"I really don’t care.” Emma glanced at Hamish, and he nodded, holstering his weapon. “David, you stay here with Mary Margaret. I’ll handle this.”

“But she’s so powerful...and she has Regina...you’ll need me.”

“No, I won’t,” Emma said shortly.

The prince looked as if his heart was being ripped in two. “Emma…”

“I’ll get him back. I promise.” 

Emma turned to leave, but David reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her into a fierce hug. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You have to come back too.  _ Promise me _ .”

For the briefest of moments Emma melted into her father’s embrace, then she stepped away and looked up to meet his eyes. “I promise.” She met Grumpy’s eyes and smiled grimly. “Let’s go burn us a witch.” Flanked by Hamish and the royal guard, she strode out the hospital door.

* * *

“So the plan is to go back in time and...what? Convince our mother not to give you up?” Regina asked as she dragged the shovel around the barn. “That’s not going to work. Mother wasn’t the sentimental type.”

“If she won’t hear reason, we’ll see Rumplestiltskin,” Zelena said, rocking the baby in her arms. “I’m sure he’ll be fascinated by my tale, and since I’ll have his own dear son with me…”

“Are you serious?” Regina stopped and stared open-mouthed at her sister. “You turned his son into a flying monkey, and you think he’s going to welcome you with open arms?”

“He needn’t know about that. All he’ll know is that I’ve reunited him with his son, and who knows how he will show his gratitude?”

Regina shook her head. “Rumplestiltskin wouldn’t just  _ accept _ you showing up with his son,” she said. “He was far too clever for that. He would want explanations.” Regina finished her task and leaned against her shovel. “You wanted family, and you’ve found it. So far, you haven’t done anything worse than I have, in my time; you can still change your mind, and I can vouch for you. You want love and admiration and acceptance? You can have those things, but this isn’t the way to get them!”

“Oh, do be quiet,” Zelena sighed, waving one hand. “Every word out of your mouth is further proof that you were unworthy - as both daughter and student. You sound like those mealy-mouthed  _ heroes _ . What you’re talking about is  _ tolerance _ , and I’ve had enough of that. When I’ve succeeded, I will be beloved and worshipped, and you - should you survive - will take your rightful place as my inferior.”

Carefully Zelena stepped forward and placed the baby on the ground at the twelve o’clock position, then moved to stand in the center of the sigil and smiled widely. 

“Let’s begin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's hope the dry spell is over! I would like to finish up most of my WIPs before the summer ends so I can move on to the new stories that are spinning around in my brain!


	23. No Time Ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma, Hamish and the Royal Guard head out to stop Zelena from casting her time-travel spell.

The barn ahead of them was shimmering with green light, and Emma stopped a few hundred yards away and turned to face Hamish and the dwarfs.

“I’ll go in the front,” she said. “Half of you go to the right, the other half go to the left, and Hamish, you take the back door. Maybe we can distract her long enough to get Neal, Regina, and the baby away.” Emma met Hamish’s eyes. “I want to avoid killing her if we can, but do what you have to do,” she said grimly.

Hamish nodded, adjusting his grip on his pistol.

“Okay.” Emma took a deep breath. “Okay. Here we go.”

His heart pounding, Hamish darted around to the back of the barn and found a small door. Easing through it, he saw the witch from the hospital standing in the middle of the barn, streams of green light surrounding her and branching out to the four points of the sigil that was carved into the ground. Regina stood a few feet away, and when Hamish glanced up, he could see winged monkeys perched on the rafters above them.

“Zelena!” Emma called from the front of the barn. “I just want my brother and my friends. If you let them go, I promise I won’t hurt you.”

“Hurt me!” Zelena scoffed. “As if you could!”

“I think you know I could,” Emma said calmly. “You’re not stupid, you know who I am and you know what I’m capable of.”

Out of the corner of his eye Hamish saw Grumpy slinking forward from the shadows, his eyes fixed on the baby.

“My parents are the most forgiving people I’ve ever met,” Emma continued, walking forward slowly. “They forgave Regina for cursing them, and they’ll forgive you for this, as long as my brother isn’t hurt. We can work this out.”

“I couldn’t care less what your pathetic parents think,” Zelena snapped. “Soon it won’t matter, because they will not be the ones with power.  _ I _ will.” She turned suddenly and spotted Grumpy as he neared the baby’s basket. “Ah, ah,” she said, waving one hand. One of the winged monkeys swooped down on him and Grumpy cursed and jumped back, swinging his pickaxe.

“Careful!” Emma shouted. “Those monkeys are our friends!”

Hamish tried to duck back behind the door before Zelena saw him, but he was a second too slow, and she bared her teeth. “You again!” she snarled. “Beautiful one, if you will?” Another winged monkey swept from the rafters and snatched at Hamish. Hastily raising his pistol, he fired, clipping its wing and sending it sprawling in the dirt.

Zelena let out a howl of fury and Emma darted forward, but Regina jumped in front of her and grasped her by the throat.

“The pendant,” she growled, her hands shaking with the effort of holding back. “Get the pendant!”

Emma gasped and clutched at Regina’s hands, and suddenly Regina was thrown backwards as if she’d been electrocuted. Emma stared down at her own hands, which were glowing with a blinding white light.

Regina stood, great orange balls of fire glowing on her palms. “Get the pendant, Emma,” she snapped, hurling one of the fireballs at her. Emma held up one hand to shield her face, and another jet of white light shot from her palm and dissolved the fireball in midair. 

Behind her, Zelena had sent half of the dwarfs sprawling with her own smoky green magic, and the air was now thick with monkeys. Hamish and the remaining dwarfs were doing their best to fight them off, but there were so many of them, and it was getting impossible to defend themselves without killing anyone. In the center of the barn the green light was beginning to focus, a small tornado-shaped funnel beginning to spin.

Amidst the flap of wings and whoosh of magic, the baby began to cry.

“Shut up, you little brat!” Zelena shouted, and she raised her hand toward the basket, her fingers glowing.

Emma, dodging another fireball, looked up, and time suddenly seemed to stand still. The monkeys froze in mid-air, Regina’s arm halted mid-throw, and Zelena, her eyes and mouth agape, could do nothing as Emma walked slowly forward. The air around her crackled and sizzled with white-hot energy, and Hamish felt the pulse beat in his throat as she reached the witch.

Her eyes blazing with fury, Emma put one hand on the pendant at the woman’s throat. “I warned you,” she growled. With a quick yank, she ripped the pendant from its ribbon, and Zelena gasped and fell to her knees.

At once the spinning green vortex disappeared, and the monkeys fell out of the air with sickening thumps, glowed briefly, and then transformed slowly back into humans. Regina extinguished her fireballs and took a deep breath, taking a few shaky steps toward Emma, where she stood looming over Zelena.

“Emma,” she said, placing a hand on her shoulder. Emma jerked and turned, her eyes still wild, but then they focused on Neal, who was standing shakily.

“Neal!” She ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck, and he cautiously returned the embrace, as if he wasn’t quite sure he could. Grumpy, limping slightly, had retrieved the baby from the basket, and Hamish stepped closer to Zelena, his gun still trained on her.

“You’d better kill me,” Zelena snapped. “I won’t be kept a prisoner for the rest of my life!”

“Don’t tempt me.” Regina flexed her fingers. “I’m trying to be a good person.”

“You don’t have to try, you  _ are _ a good person,” Emma said. She pressed Zelena’s pendant into Regina’s hand. “You’re technically still mayor. What do you want to do?”

Regina took a shaky breath and looked again at Zelena. “Take her to the jail first,” she said. “Without her magic, she can’t break out.”

“Don’t be so sure about that,” Zelena said.

Regina shook her head. “If you’d just given us half a chance,” she said sadly. “You’re my sister. I would have vouched for you. Helped you.”

Hamish felt his jaw drop; Emma and the dwarfs looked equally gobsmacked.

“Your  _ sister _ ?” Emma said.

“Half-sister,” Regina said, her eyes still on Zelena’s. “Our mother...gave her up.”

“ _ Abandoned _ me, you mean.”

“Yes. I guess that  _ is _ what I mean.” Regina turned the pendant over in her hands. “Zelena, you’ll have a trial, just like anyone else would, and you’ll stay at the jail until your hearing. You’re under arrest.”

“You can’t treat me like some common  _ criminal _ !” Zelena cried.

“You kidnapped almost an entire town,” Regina said harshly, her composure cracking. “You  _ are _ a criminal.”

“That’s enough,” Emma said, stepping forward. “Hamish, will you help escort Zelena to the jail? I need to get my brother back to my parents.”

“Aye,” Hamish agreed, moving to stand beside them. “And on the way, she can tell us how tae help Belle.”

Zelena’s eyes flashed. “I will never be  _ caged _ like an  _ animal! _ ” she said. Before anyone could stop her, she leapt forward, snatched the pendant out of Regina’s hands, and snapped it in place at the base of her neck. Her skin rippled and then glowed a bright, poisonous green, and she reached for her sister, sparks dancing on her fingertips. Emma shoved Regina aside and stepped forward, raising her hands, but the sound of a gunshot made everyone freeze.

Zelena clutched at her throat, where the bullet had cracked the bright jewel of the pendant and then ricocheted into her flesh. She fell first to her knees, and then all the way to the ground, still glaring up at Regina. She opened her mouth to say something, but shuddered as the breath left her body, and then everything was still.

After a few seconds of deafening silence, Hamish looked up and met Regina’s eyes. “‘m sorry,” he mumbled.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, Regina shook her head, then turned and marched away, her clenched hands trembling at her sides.

“You didn’t have a choice,” Emma said shakily, staring down at the witch’s body. “She was going to kill us all.”

“Uh, I don’t wanna worry anybody,” Grumpy said from behind them, “but what’s  _ that _ ?” He pointed at the ground, and they all looked down.

A thin stream of green smoke was issuing from the crack in the pendant, and Emma backed up a step. “Uh...is that...is that her power? Her magic? What is it…”

The smoke curled out away from Zelena’s body and snaked around the sigil on the barn floor and Grumpy yelped. He backed toward the barn door, the baby still clutched in his arms. Neal, who had been talking to some of the recently de-monkeyed townspeople, looked up and shouted.

“Emma, look out!”

But the smoke had reached the center of the sigil, and the green vortex reappeared. Hamish and Emma had enough time to meet each other’s wide, panicked eyes, before they were dragged feet-first into the swirling abyss.

* * *

Neal darted forward, but as quickly as it had appeared, the vortex snapped closed, and he was left staring at the solid dirt floor of the barn.

“Not again,” he breathed. “Christ, how many times is this gonna happen?”

“I can’t do this,” Grumpy said next to him. “I gotta go tell the Prince I lost his daughter  _ again _ ?”

“We’ll figure something out,” Neal said, but he felt a little queasy. “We’ll get them back. That’s what Snow White and the Prince are good at, right? Finding people?”

But he could tell by Grumpy’s face that the dwarf felt the same way he did: at some point, their luck was bound to run out.

* * *

Hamish cursed as he landed with a thump on what felt like a dozen sharp rocks. Looking around, he realized that it was really just a forest floor, but who knew how far he’d fallen? He stood shakily and saw that Emma was getting to her feet not far away, and from her grimace he knew her landing hadn’t been any softer than his.

“Alright?” he asked, and she nodded.

“Yeah. A little dizzy, but okay.”

“Good. Ah...where are we?”

Emma looked around them. “A forest.”

“Right.”

“It doesn’t look familiar, though,” she said thoughtfully. “I mean, I’ve pretty much combed the forest around Storybrooke and this doesn’t look...I’m not sure.”

“Let’s take a look, then. Maybe something’ll look familiar later on.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Emma squinted up at the sky. “I don’t even know what time of day it is, so maybe just...follow the sun? That way we don’t go in circles.”

They set off, and after awhile it appeared that they’d made the right decision. A dirt road stretched before them, and Hamish gave a sigh of relief, but Emma frowned.

“This road,” she said. “It’s too...wide. The dirt roads around Storybrooke are paths, but this looks like a main road.”

“It’d be paved, though,” Hamish pointed out.

“I know. This is so…” She stopped abruptly. “Do you hear that?”

He did. It was an odd, hollow sound; if he didn’t know better, he’d swear he was hearing hoofbeats.

“Get down,” Emma hissed.

“Why?”

“Just do it!”

They ducked behind a hill on one side of the road, and Hamish couldn’t believe his eyes. A white carriage appeared, pulled by two white horses and accompanied by half a dozen strangely dressed men on horseback.

“What…”

“Shh!”

The carriage drove past them, continued down the road a bit, and then stopped abruptly; by craning his neck a little, Hamish could see that a tree had fallen across the road. The door to the carriage swung open and out jumped…

The  _ Prince _ ?

“Oh my God,” Emma whispered from behind him. Hamish turned to look at her, but she wasn’t looking at the Prince. She was staring up into the branches of a nearby tree, where a small figure in a green cloak was perched, nearly hidden from view.

“Worry not - it’s but a fallen tree,” the Prince called.

“I don’t believe this,” Emma breathed.

As they watched, the green-cloaked figure jumped nimbly onto the top of the carriage, snatched something through the open door, and raced away on a guard’s horse. The Prince gave chase, and the guards, on the orders of the woman still inside the coach, worked to clear the tree from the roadway.

“Come on,” Emma whispered, pulling on Hamish’s arm, and they crept back into the depths of the forest.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded when they were safely away. “Wasn’t that your da?”

“And my mom,” Emma said, her eyes shining. “We just saw them meet for the first time.”

“What? How did we... _ Where are we _ ?”

“Don’t you get it, Hamish? The question isn’t  _ where _ we are. It’s  _ when _ we are.”

Hamish’s head suddenly felt cold. “You mean…”

“Yeah. Zelena’s spell worked. We’ve gone back in time!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO BAD at writing actions sequences. So, so bad. I'm sorry. I tried.


End file.
